


So Sweet the Dying Song

by Arasa17



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-07-16 05:11:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 63,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7253812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arasa17/pseuds/Arasa17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>* NOTE! As of 8/16/2016, the chapters are in proper order again. I don't know how the last couple got mixed up, but so sorry for any confusion.*</p><p>“You have planted the seed of discord.”<br/>I swallow.<br/>“You have woken the name of our kind to the world beneath, and against our wishes, against our orders, you have endangered us all.”<br/>“Endangered…” I look up.<br/>“Yes,” The faerie’s eyes glow stormy gold like his hair, and looking at him, I can see the fire of the sun. It’s frightening to think of the years he’s seen, the countless days passed before those eyes. “And now,” he murmurs, “you will repair it.”<br/>----<br/>Unknowingly, the broken-hearted Faerie falls in love with a forbidden prince, and the consequences are terrible.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I am Faerie. I am spirit. I am…without hope.

I wrote these words on the clean face of a white birch. These were the words in my heart, and I wrote them in a moment of despair. I couldn’t face them then, not yet, but I couldn’t deny them either. It was a fact, my destiny.

I look now through the moonlit trees of Greenwood, an ethereal being, a mere phantom caught between who I am and the want of my heart so close to me, yet so far. Even if I wished to though, I could not speak out. For I am cursed, punished until I see the error of my ways. I have broken one of the most sacred laws of my kind...direct interference. I saved the life of my love, and I have yet to regret that err. I couldn’t do anything else.

It was not my place, they told me. I had no right! I don’t have the wisdom to make such a choice, they told me. I have not the power to follow through with my actions, to deal with their consequences. Indeed, I didn’t even know the blow would kill him.

It is true! I know this.

I don’t share the power that so many of my kind possess. I can’t even summon material form for more than a few hours. I’ve been told that I will grow as years pass…but I didn’t have years. I had seconds. I made my choice, and I am not sorry for it. I am only sorry that the choice was mine.

It all began harmlessly, fascination, an intrigue, really. I found the elf asleep one night in a tree. I saw him flutter in and out of his rest, heard the words he whispered to the trees, the wishes he wished on the stars above… He wished for a friend like no other. He wished for a love.

It was simple chance, or fate…I don’t know, but an accident. It was a queer night, a night where the stars shone and shot across the sky. He’d left the celebrations praising their light to climb their limbs, and there, alone in the night, he sat with me. He didn’t even know it.

I refused to think of him any longer after that, but soon, I found myself in the trees of Mirkwood again…The air he inhabited was lighter. It sung like the trees, and I wanted to feel it time and time again. I rode the wings of the wind with him as he ran the branches of green. I watched the darkness vanish from his home, as the shadows fade at the breaking of day when he fought it from his lands. I saw the love and admiration in his people’s eyes, the life and light in him, and somehow, some way…I grew to love it.

It became a part of me, such a beautiful, crucial part of me that I couldn’t bear letting it go. It was a selfish love, I realize looking back. I don’t deserve him. But the choice I made was the choice I had to…

By and by, those too wary to go asked me to look on Rivendell, see what darkness brewed there. It was there again that I saw my elf, though I had not a clue as to who he was, not even a name. I never dared come close. I stayed and watched from afar when others came near. I had nothing more than a face, a fair, perfect face full of everything I cared for.

It pained me more than he’ll ever know to see him fight through the War of the Ring, but it was a glorious day when the Dark One was vanquished and he was free. How could I know it was then that my troubles would begin? It happened so quickly.

He was with a company of woodelves on his way home. It wasn’t fair…he was so close! They came out of nowhere. Not even I saw them coming. A band of yrch attacked on the fringe edges of Greenwood, and just when it was worst, when the black blood ran fast and the elves were pushed back, the spiders appeared. It was confusion, panic on my part. The arrow coming was just a blur… a black, bullhead blur dipped in poison. Even now, I know not if it would have met its mark. I don’t care. I made sure it didn’t.

In a brilliant flash of light, the arrow disintegrated in a thousand harmless shards. Even the orcs withdrew in surprise, fled as the woodelves gained the upper hand. But the damage was done. Before I even had time to think on what I’d done…the others came.

I stand as a ghostly apparition, overlooking the moonlit clearing in the trees where my elf and his companions sleep. I think on that what I’ve done, what has happened, what is to be. I remember what the others told me, what they did… I am banished from my peers. My punishment is solitude. I cannot speak to them. My powers have waned. Even my life, I fear, drains. I know it is not so, but so deep is this grief, I know not what to do with it.

Stranger to me than anything though, is the fact that it’s not my banishment, not the wrath of my superiors, not even the dwindling of my strength that causes this grief. Even now, he sleeps on unaware, resting in sweet oblivion to my pain.

I’ve made my choice.

I remember what they told me. It is only good, they said, he knew not what to think of the shattered arrow.

We are to live in seclusion. Among mortal and immortal alike, we are legend, myth, nothing more. It is to stay that way. Had he questioned, driven others to hunt us, find what we are and what powers we possess, they would have silenced him. For the sake of all, they would do this.

As for me, this my punishment will lift if I deny him, deny myself and forsake this foolishness, they told me. If I swore on the sea, the stars and my soul never to see him, never touch him, and most of all, never again protect him from the bitter taste of death… I knew then, and I know now that it is something I can never do, not completely.

My choice is the only one left me.

Slowly I lower my eyes, opening my fingers. They cup a silver moon set in midnight-blue stone, fitting snugly in the v of my palm. I’m not sure what it will do for him, but all I have, it has…he has.  

_My love…_ I shudder…what a cursed thing. My love, selfish that it is, could have brought the faerie’ wrath upon him, brought him to his knees where my elf should never be. It would have been my fault alone. _My fault_.

I will not chance this.

It is his birthday a few days from the morrow, customary among the Woodelves to celebrate with wine and dancing. He will be distracted. He will not know what to think. I give him a gift now that only I can give. With it, I swear to leave him, for his safety and mine. I swear never again to endanger him for my sake…only not without this piece of me.

Halting, clenching what I hold, I walk through the clearing, a phantom dressed in the bittersweet taste of unrequited love, and I look on him…forbidden honey. He rests apart from the others, and even as I pass, a glow of dust whisks from my fingers.

“Sleep…” I whisper to them, eyes on the pale sheen of light clinging to my love’s hair.

They breathe more deeply, and they are safe here. I sense no danger.

I kneel next to him in a whisper of broken, unshed tears, tilting my head to look on the blanket of serenity he sleeps in under the warm night sky, once more. I look through the stone depths of my gift then, and suddenly, I wish that he could know…somehow, somewhere…there was someone who loved him, cared for him with a passion deep and real.

“Now I leave you,” I falter, swallowing the knot in my throat. It hurts almost as much as sitting here, looking at him for the last time…almost. I shake my head slowly, “I…I never meant to endanger you so. I never meant to love you.”

I hesitate, fingers trembling, before I slip it around his neck, laying the pendant carefully atop his chest: protection, my love. In it, I have placed every earnest wish for his safety, for his happiness, every time I’ve looked on him and wished he could know that I did.

Fainter than the murmur of wind, fainter than the pulse of his heartbeat under my palm, I whisper. “Farewell.”

All I ask for this is a gentle, chaste kiss to his forehead. I linger over him, stroking his hair, feeling its coolness, the silky fibers running through my fingers… and a tear slips from my chin.  

In the twilight between unfettered dawn and the shackles of night, I breathe, closing my eyes in a moment of peace, never realizing the stream coils down his face like a new fallen raindrop. I don’t realize how he flinches, that his fingers twitch, lost in the hazy dark he lingers in. I am lost myself. I don’t see that they slowly close into a fist, rubbing his knuckles, shifting.

Instead, I reluctantly break the touch, loathe, and hot tears sear my eyes, “I am sorry… my love.”

Then, fingers leaving him, pulling away with a last, lingering caress, I trace the moon pendant I have given him. His eyes dart back and forth once, before they flicker open. _No_ …

I freeze, horrified, a luminescent glow shimmering before his eyes. No! _What have I done?_

For one brief, terrifying instant, I can’t bring myself to move, to vanish, or even pull away. Under my curse, drifting back and forth, spirit to flesh, I could barely summon the strength if I wanted to.

He jumps, half reaching for his knife, but he doesn’t make it, still bleary under my spell. He freezes, staring. His eyes lock on me, and I don’t know what he sees. I don’t think he does, either. They’re unfocused, confused. Again, I curse the others bitterly for taking what was mine. I could not even do this simple thing!

Stiff, almost wary, he licks his lips and whispers, “Ya…ya naa lle?”

No sooner have the words left him then I’ve spun away and disappeared in a brief burst of faint, blue light…and he’s left staring into the midnight dark of nothingness.

“Nae e elei.”

I don’t dare speak the words aloud, but only when he takes a short, gasping burst of air and looks around, sitting up and I know he doubts what his eyes have told him…I touch his mind with its answer. _Just a dream…_ nothing more, nothing less.

“Sleep…” I whisper to his tired thoughts, fainter than the breeze, “…forget.”

_Please, please my love, forget…_

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even respond. He just stares, thinking, a grimace contorting his features and clamping blades of grass in fistfuls for his helpless confusion. He stays that way a long while, listening to the trees’ murmurings, seeking confirmation, but they tell him nothing. They’ve never spoken of my presence before, and they will not betray me now. They will not forsake one friend for another…I pray.

And so, resting under the sheltering curtain of leaves, the elf asks himself if he’s truly seen anything at all. He looks into the night and wonders if his mind has conjured my form in a weary, listless dream...and I sincerely hope by all the great powers of Eru that he does.

Even as I watch, he glances about just once more, before laying his head back in the bed of leaves, staring at the starlit sky. His breaths steady. His pulse slows… I feel the rigid alertness melting into the comfort they offer.

Slowly, I breathe a sigh of relief and turn way, begin my departure, a solemn, lonely walk over the forest floor. It shouldn’t affect me, I know, but under the wretched, angering curse I suffer, I shiver in the wind that gusts through the leaves.

It will be the last time, I think.

This place stings with every step, weighs my heart down into my feet with every shallow step. I don’t think I could bare seeing these trees again. For with every remnant spell of evil that lifts, every shade of darkness that bursts into life with the elves’ sweet song and avenging blade, I’ll be reminded of the light I have lost.

I can’t look back. I can’t regret…and I have no more heart to lose.

I am Faerie. I am spirit. And now, falling against a warm, moss-laden trunk in despair, unable to hear its sweet whispers, I am… without hope.

 

 

                                       ***************

 

"Ya...ya naa lle?" Who...who are you?

"Nae e elei..." Just a dream.

 

**A/N: Originally, this piece was going to end here. But I decided this story would have to have an actual finish. Tell me what you think, if you have the time.**

             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 


	2. I am not Mad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In which Legolas confides in Gimli, and he wonders if what he's seen is real at all._

Well, this is a fine way to spend out the day! With an absent-minded elf.

“ _Come_ on, lad!” I look up, jarring him with an elbow to knock his head from the clouds. “Where’s your mind gone to? Have you not heard a word I’ve said?”

For the past hour, I’ve been trying to tell him as subtly as possible to be more alert in these trees. The air is too close, the branches too dark for my liking. Legolas’ party and our company of dwarves met at the borders of Mirkwood, and though there was a sliver of tension between the two, not enough to warrant escape. He was restless though, and after a day of slow journeying, he suggested he and I go ahead. His excuse was to ‘scout the trail, but in his condition, I doubt he’s ‘scouted’ anything at all.

“Gimli…” he merely replies, as if I’d said nothing. In all my travels with him, I think, he’s been like this. Legolas is a steady, warm beam of light and a flighty breeze whirled into one. Some days he’s at nowhere but the moment, all eyes and ears, alert and ready like a nervous sparrow. But then again, when the sun shines particularly bright, when the warbles in the trees reach a crescendo, he’s like this…eyes flitting about as carefree as a humming bird.

He walks along beside, an almost infinitesimal bounce in his step, “You must tell me. What is it like to dream?”

“…dream?” The question takes me by surprise. “Haven’t you ever dreamt before, elf?”

“Aye, I have…” He slows, pausing as if to think. For a moment, not even the squirrel chattering at him from a nearby branch distracts him, “…but not in the way you do, I think. What is it like?”

“Well, I…uh, I suppose…” I stop, and I find I can’t quite gather the words to describe it. How _does_ one go about explaining a dream, anyway? “It’s like- no, no. Well, you see…Ah, no, not that either.” As it turns out I can’t, and after spluttering in frustration, stomping the path down with a booted foot, I twist around to look at him. “Well _what_ do you wanna know about ‘em for in the first place?”

He quirks an angular brow, a mysterious smirk on his face. He shrugs a little, slowing at the forest trailside, and I sigh, reaching out.

“All right, Legolas.” It isn’t often that I use the elf’s name, but when I do, I mean it. “Now tell me what all this is about. You’ve been a little _queer,_ if ya don’t mind my saying so, ever since we left. And why’d you do that, by the way, lad? There’s safety in numbers, you know.”

I look up to the leafed limbs arching overhead, throwing long shadows along the ground. Dappled light waving slowly between. Odd creaks and groans fill the treetops though, and the soft moan of wind through the branches is constant. The place gives me the willies, to be honest. But the elf doesn’t seem to notice.

“Come! Do not fret so, my friend.” Legolas waves a hand, “We are far too near the city. We are safe.” With that, he walks lightly from the winding trail and once leaving it, spins about. There’s something new here, I think. There’s a vigor in his eyes.

“Very well then, my stout friend, I will tell you!”

I wasn’t expecting it, but I brighten a little. Finally!

The elf is stilted and nimble, as if itching to be anywhere else, but he seats himself on a fallen log and stays there. With that, he draws his legs up under him in the shape of a diamond, resting his hands atop, and after breathing a hard sigh, fidgeting with his cuffs, looking ready to leap up at any moment again…he spills out. “I had a…dream, that has bothered me for days.”

He casts a glance, as if expecting this to shock me. I merely grunt, stroking a stray braid of beard, and he must take this as sign to continue.

“I told you of the yrch attack, of the white burst of light and the arrow? If not for that…light, it almost certainly would have been a fatal blow, Gimli.”

“Good thing too,” I snort, wagging a gloved finger at him, “Or I’d never forgive you, elf. What’s the trouble,then?”

He sighs, “I am not sure what to do with it, truthfully.”

“So do nothing.” I shrug. “Leave well enough alone, Legolas.” I nod to the sun coasting its waning path across the sky, “’Sides, whatever happened to arriving in time for yer’ begetting day? At this rate, we’ll not be there by nightfall, and yer Father’s already preparing for it.”

He sighs, “I know. It has been _months_ since I’ve seen him, and I miss him. I do but…but I simply cannot forget.” He drops his eyes, almost ashamed, before shifting as if an ant crawled up his back and he’s not quite willing to scratch at it. “I-I simply cannot rid myself of it. It was so very real. I couldn’t rest again the entire night.”

I take the pack of weed from my pocket and a pipe, “And?”

“And…” he squints, sliding a strand of flaxen hair from gusting between his lips, “…and what, Gimli?”

The moist air clings to the wood, and I set to lighting it. Slowly, the pipe glows to life, and I rest on one arm, puffing a few gusts of smoke out before answering. “And what’s made ye so flittish, then?”

After all, how disturbing can some silly dream be?

“But I have _told_ you!” he sits up, darting his eyes through the trees, back and forth. “I cannot rid it from my head! She is all I can think of. She was so _real._ There have been so many strange things, Gimli. There’s something that I miss, something important, and I cannot think of what!”

I pause at that, eyeing a suspicious lump of moss at my feet, and everything begins making sense, “ _She_ , eh?”

He stares at me sidelong, before nodding, “Aye…it was a she. At least-” he stops, eyes faltering, and the storm of wonder, curiosity that I saw there fades a little, like when a whip of wind holds a roll of thunderheads at bay. “- at least I believe it was a she. In any case, I think she wants me to find her, Gimli.” He gets to his feet and begins pacing, vehement, “I _must_ find her! I must.”

I snort with all the refinement I have. “Aye, laddie. Your mysterious dream girl wishes ye to come and rescue her…right.”

At times like these, it’s hard to believe the elf’s seen more summers than I have tankards of ale. It’s a fine thing, too, because it’s gonna have to be me who straightens him out.

“Now tell me, how will I go about finding her? You must help me, Gimli.”

“Oh I must, eh?” I shake my head, laughing. “I fear you’ve lost your mind, lad!”  

“I…I what?” he blinks, and I shrug.

“Perhaps you’ve been in the sun too long.” I shift atop the rotting wood, glancing about, “It _is_ hot. I’ll give ye that, and the air in these trees is dense enough to gag a maggot.”

“These _trees,_ Gimli, are my home.” Despite the snap of anger in his eyes, when I squint upward, I see something else too. He walks back, placing one boot in front of the other, pondering, thinking hard.

“I am not mad.” He says finally, folding his arms, “And I cannot forget her. Am I to believe it was nothing but a phantom? A vision?” He shakes his head, “I have never heard of such things! I am not a seer, and this was _not_ a dream. It was…different.”

“I’m sure, laddy.” I wish I could take his words seriously. Truly I do, but when that dreamy, soppy expression clouds his face again, the puff of smoke I blow out seems more interesting. It shivers and trembles in the humid air, forming a rapidly widening O that frays at the edges and drifts away on the wind, until it’s disappeared into nothingness.

“And besides…” I grunt once it does, “…even if this dream was something like a…a vision, _why_ wouldn’t ye remember it better?”

He stares. “You truly do not believe me then, Gimli?”

If it weren’t so surprised, I’d actually thing there was anger there.

“Come now,” I shuffle to face him, plucking the pipe stem from my mouth and setting to knocking the loose ashes out. “Doesn’t it seem a bit _unlikely_?”

Legolas doesn’t answer a long minute, but when I look up again, pausing, I nearly curse. Well, that’s fine! I’ve gone and hurt him.

“Well I have proof.” He digs under his shirt for something, frustrated, and I squint against the sunlight.

At this rate, we the supposed ‘scouts’ are going to fall behind the rest. They’ll be along any minute…and what is he doing _?_ Going on about ‘proof’ and spirit women. Finally, he succeeds in pulling a chain loose from his chest, and after disentangling a stray strand of hair from it, extends the pendant.

“I was given this.”

He lowers it into view, revealing a moon shaped crescent in his fingers. But then, I can’t help letting the pipe go slack in my teeth. The solid blue gem cut in its face, the very silver where it lays seems to glow in his palm… Flecks of sparkling silver dot its depths like starlight. The rays of sun seem to gather along its edges until they shine, and though it’s small, not even the size of a finger, it captures the eyes from all else.

Well, it’s pretty. I’ll give him that.

“What does that prove?” I snap out of my stupor, tearing away and puffing more vigorously. “All I see is a nice necklace. For your own sake, I think ye should just forget the whole thing, lad.”

“But _Gimli,_ ” He struggles a moment to pull it free of his hair, using both hands to loose it from his neck, before holding it into the light. “Look at it. ‘Tis warm to the touch, glows in my fingers. There is an essence here; I can feel it. It could be _nothing_ but elven make. I’ve seen naught like it. Have _you_? Have you seen its match?”

It takes a few minutes of examining, once he gathers the chain and drops it in my hands. But I have to admit…it is unique. My race are craftsmen, born and bred of stone. We mold it as it molded us in the beginning. Yet still, we’ve never mined, never sculpted a stone like this.

“I’ll admit, laddie, I’ve never seen this gem. Light as mithril, darker than silver, and harder than gold…where did you get it?” I set the pipe down, tossing it carefully in my hands and examining the chain from all angles, “Don’t mind saying I’d like to get my hands on more of this.”

He sighs, and only when he leans back, sliding back on the wet wood, I look up. A frown darkens his face, and his eyes dart in my direction, jaw clamped in the way he does when conflicted. “I… know not.” He recaptures the necklace from my grasp and spins it round and round in his fingers, “I do not even know who gave it.”

And then, the pieces fall into place, “And you’re thinking this…she-elf…was the one who did?”

He shrugs, glancing up at the sound of light footsteps approaching, and the heavier trod of leather behind it. It’s the company. “Who else but?”

“Well, I don’t know lad,” I glance to the approaching party, “…but you’re a little too late to talk of it now.”

He stares an instant, before nodding and looking away.

I watch their arrival, sitting by the path, and I notice nearly half Legolas’s company are she-elves…fair she-elves. Nothing compared to the little hairy women of my kind, or the regal kind of beauty that is the Lady of the Wood’s, but well enough. The glances thrown the elf prince don’t seem particularly unfavorable either, I think, watching them pass. A few even linger to wait for him…guards, I suppose.

Still, I’d think he’d know it if one of his sentries snuck up on him in the night and hung some chain around his neck.

“Legolas, have ye thought perhaps that it wasn’t an…” I nudge his side with an elbow, picking up and shouldering my axe, before nodding to the dark head walking ahead of us. I don’t dare speak more, knowing the uncanny hearing of the pointy-eared creatures, but he catches my drift.

“…not Eldar?”

I shrug, “Could be.”

“Then what, Gimli?”

I don’t answer a little while, and I wonder if it was best even to mention it. I wasn’t serious, of course. Now that I think of it though, I wouldn’t put it past the elf to take it so.

“Gimli…” he extends a hand, motioning for us to stop, “Tell me…please.”

“Well,” I plant the axe handle in the dirt, folding my hands atop. I don’t like putting such ideas in his head, but in the last few months, I’ve seen things that I never would have believed, things that were true. Nothing seems too ridiculous to mention.

“Well, lad…perhaps what ye think ye saw wasn’t altogether real.”

He arches a skeptical brow, and before he has time to protest, I cut him off, shaking my head.

“Now, now… hear me out. In the old days, long before my father Gloin set out for the mountain, he told a tale of his ancestor, Buhren.” I walk on, but slower, not quite willing to lose sight of the group of dwarves plodding ahead. If something were to attack in these trees, it would be nice to have help.

“He was but a lad of twenty at the time, hardly old enough to wield an axe. But, he had a stout heart and a will about him. Anyways, in the middle of wild and uncharted mountains, miles from home, orc filth attacked his group. He was the only survivor, and he wandered a month and a day, half-delirious with hunger.”

The elf walks beside, bow in hand, and for once, I think I have his whole attention.

“When he was nigh unto death…” It’s here that I drop my voice, “…they say a spirit came to him. He called him a _Darzh,_ ‘fairy’ in the common tongue. He led the child to the parties looking for him, and though none believed his tale, he swore on his grave that it was true. The fairy took pity on him, he said, saved his life.”

A long while passes, in which I’m not quite sure what the elf is thinking. He just stares at the passing ground ahead… Finally, he pauses. In his eyes is the storm of wonder again, and at the same time, a resolution.

“I swear this day, my stout friend, I will find whomever…or whatever…soul gave this, and why they want me to do it. Perhaps then, we’ll know if your story is true.”

“Well,” I sigh, “If that be your wish, I’d best see it through. _Else_ …” I lift a finger, “… _you’ll_ not have the time to keep your oath, elf, and I’ll have come to this Greenwood for nothing. You’re not getting out of seeing my home.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.”

 


	3. The Consequences

What a simple, beautiful thing…the leaf.

I turn it slowly in my fingers, looking through the thin green membrane and into its heart. There’s a quality to it that a part of me envies, its realness, its firm substance. I can touch it, feel it, run the spider web of green tendrils through my fingers. I can feel its life in the form I’ve taken. It’s the easiest to maintain, the way I rest, but the most difficult to deal with, flickering between spirit and flesh.

It doesn’t matter now.

It seems like all but the sun and moon are lost. Even for them, I seem to worry. I feel like a glowing ember slowly fading to darkness, wanting to burn but without the will… The rushing of bubbling water fills my ears, a lonely flock of gulls drifting past on the distance. Their calls are empty, almost forlorn here not far from the sea, but there’s a kind of serene peace in the fading sunset. It’s helped me settle a little, and here, at the end of the earth, where sky, sea and land meet, I watch the skies at the Junction.

This is my place, where I go to find quiet, solitude and most of all, space. Here above, where the falls never stop, where the water from the heavens join the flow of water down under, the light never fades. Always the sun shines or the moon glows. For the clouds and stank darkness can never completely squelch it. They’re beneath me, like all the earth should be. Yet now, I feel unworthy. I’ve let them take hold. The birth and death, light and dark that rules that world, petty grievances and fights that shouldn’t matter to me…they do.

I hope the others don’t sense it. I hope they can’t see the ties that bind my thoughts, my heart with that world. Otherwise, I’ll never be free. This wretched solitude will be permanent!

I know I can’t take it. I wasn’t born to live alone, and without the bustling nonsense that makes the mortal world, or even the cold kind of aloofness that makes the others like me, I think I won’t survive. Besides, my love will never know. He won’t care anyway. He’ll never even know my last thoughts were of him… I could drop from the sky and sink into the sea foaming at the river mouth running by, and he’d never care.

Suddenly, a sound like the whir of wind through a keyhole breaks the quiet. Someone’s coming! I snap my head up, forcing myself out of this melancholy. It wouldn’t do for…who is it? gods! an elder… to see me like this.

He, or she - it’s hard to tell in the spirits so old as this - descends in a pale glow of light and settles beside. I don’t move, don’t even breathe as…he, I realize…warps slowly into his taken form. I recognize him instantly, and a cold feeling of dread sinks into the pit of my stomach.

_Why, oh why didn’t they send_ _my friend?_ Why didn’t they send Tamling? His was the only vote against the choice to banish me. Are things really so bad as this? I did what they asked! _Well_ …I think about it… _sort of._

“Do you know why I am here?”

I turn the leaf slowly in my fingers, pass it from hand to hand, and then, on a gust of cool wind that blusters past, let it go. It whisks back and forth over their sky until it sinks through the graying mist, flutters down through a sheet of green, and then drops like a twirling boat in the river.

I should answer quietly, articulately, and with a humble, repentant heart…but I don’t. Instead, I nod slightly.

“Good, that will make this easier.”

I risk a glance, only to find his eyes on something else apparently more interesting. So I look away too, sitting cross-legged on the wet stones. White water bubbles under their cold faces and spills from the cliff side in white droplets, only to spatter the darkening clouds forming beneath.

“You disobeyed.” He explains, “One way or another, you will make recompense.”

_Wonderful…_ I suppose he knows about the necklace, then. Isn’t making me give him up enough? Must they get me for that one little thing? I release a sigh. There isn’t much to be done about it now. What will they do? Take it from him?

“What do I have to do?” I ask softly, studying my hands. A pearlescent glow clings to my skin, but it’s dusty, almost gray. His fingers, slender and folded elegantly before him are beautiful, brilliant in the fading sunset. I frown, looking away.

“Precisely what we tell you.” He states simply, and my heart sinks into my stomach. I hate feeling so powerless, like the pawn in a game of chess where the players can’t be seen, can’t be reached…just blind, invisible power.

“And… what is that?” My voice breaks down into a whisper. He doesn’t notice.

“You have planted the seed of discord.”

I swallow.

“You have woken the name of our kind to the world beneath, and against our wishes, against our _orders,_ you have endangered us all.”

“Endangered…” I look up.

“Yes,” The faerie’s eyes glow stormy gold like his hair, and looking at him, I can see the fire of the sun. It’s frightening to think of the years he’s seen, the countless days passed before those eyes. “And now,” he continues, “thanks to your disobedience, it is necessary that we repair it.”

I wince, dropping my head. It was just a token! A trifling gift, what could he possibly have to fear?

“But… it was nothing.” I insist, grimacing and darting over the hazy world, the land I know so well. It feels like a part of me. He’ll have nothing left of me if they take it.

“Nothing?” he says slowly, and I feel tension ripple through the air like a stone in the lake. “Perhaps the enslavement of all your kind is nothing to you? War, perhaps?”

“He doesn’t mean to hurt to you. He _couldn’t_ hurt you. We’ve done nothing to him!”

“You speak so freely on the behalf of a mere earthling?” he scoffs, “A _groundling_?”

“He is not a groundling!”

Suddenly, a burst of charged air gusts through my hair and I freeze, but not willingly. The power melts into my body and holds me in place. He doesn’t flinch, not even a twitch, but I can’t fight it.

“Do not raise your voice in the presence of an elder, youngling.” He says quietly, but the moment he does, I hiss a sharp gust of air through my teeth.

“He doesn’t deserve your ridicule!” I protest, “You don’t know anything about him.”

He laughs then, and with a toss of his eyes, releases me. I rub my arms, shifting away. It doesn’t hurt more than a sting, but shame and humiliation scratch at the place where anger flares. He’s already speaking on, and he doesn’t look at me.

“Do not tell me of what I know, foolish child. He is a stranger to you. You are asinine to think otherwise.”

“But-”

“- _when_ was he born?” He interrupts, and my voice withers. He says it like he already knows the answer, “What is his name? Who is his father? Does he have a lover?”

I shake my head, looking away. It doesn’t matter! It doesn’t change the way I feel.

“Legolas.” He states finally, “…his name is Legolas. Did you know this?”

I can’t lie. I shake my head again, no, feeling for the first time in centuries like an absurd little girl.

“Well, he has guessed the true identity of his visitor.”

I blink, focusing on keeping my head down, “Y-you mean…”

“…yes.”

At that, I’m not quite sure what to feel. A small place, very deep down glows satisfaction at the realization. He knows I was there! But it doesn’t last long. This can only mean one thing.

“Do you know who he plans to enlist for help?” he breaks my stupor, and his eyes are focused and intense, “Who he wishes to help him find the Faerie?” He waits a long minute to answer himself. When he finally does though, he leans closer, so close I feel the stir of air at his words. It shimmers around him, charged like after a thunderstorm, and it makes me shiver, leaning away. “…the King of the Woodelves.”

_The king…_ I look up with a snap. “The king? Why?”

It takes a strange minute. I can feel his unease, something in the way he doesn’t meet my eyes, wide in horror. It isn’t aloofness this time though…something else. I don’t know what.

“It matters not. All that matters is that you do not leave our realm, youngling, until this is over. You will sit by and let us deal with him as we see fit. You will not help him, and you will not help yourself.”

“W-what are you going to do?” I choke.

He doesn’t answer, but slowly, gradually, I can feel his presence beginning to fade. He shrugs slightly, and I stare, agape in disbelief. How can he be so nonchalant? I realize he’s leaving now, but not too quickly, giving me time to think. What isn’t he telling me? _Why_ won’t he tell me?

Oh. My heart stops, freezing. I grip stone, and the thunderheads rolling into swarms let loose a rumble. _Oh no_ …

“You’re-you’re going to kill him!” I gasp, trembling in disbelief, “You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?”

He pauses briefly, and though his essence has begun to warp, fade into a blur, I know he stops, “Depending.”

“Y-you will…” I can’t think, can’t even breathe. “Oh, Eru…no.” before he has time to answer, I leap to my feet and scramble to the falls’ edge, spitting out, “You _can’t_!”

“Do not blame others for correcting your mistakes. You question the will of the elders?”

“You don’t have the right to decide who lives and dies!”

“Silence, child! We have the only right.” Instantly, the spirit throws a flashing finger into the air, and a whip of wind blasts from his hand. Shining gold orbs light the falling dark in his eyes, and in them, I see lightning crack.

“I won’t let you!” I shout. It’s useless and I don’t care.

“What will you do?” The gold robes whip around his feet in the rapidly blustering wind, and all around and beneath, storm clouds are gathering in the dusk.

“He means you no harm.” I shake my head, pleading. _He should have forgotten._ But he didn’t, and he saw me. He’s curious, wants to know how, what. He’s curious… _Oh why?_

“It isn’t his fault. It’s mine, I swear! He wants nothing from us. He’d never hurt us!”

“How could you possibly know this?” he throws his hands out, and when he speaks again, a sickening part of me wonders if he’s right. “Even if you did, can you speak for his kind? How about mortal men? For greedy dwarves and spell casters, those who would want this power for themselves? We will protect ourselves at all costs.”

As if to demonstrate, he throws his head back and lightning bursts from his fingers, blending and swelling with the storm. The clouds twist and swell, coiling like venomous snakes until they gather on the winds. Flashes of lightning rip mercilessly at the sky, and they send bursts of sound rebounding from the black masses. I cover my ears, feeling power rip through me like ice.

“Stop!” I shout, but nothing happens. “Please stop!” I scream over the wind, and we’re high over the earth. The rain will have begun falling in sheets. “I’ll stop him.” I pant as it calms a little, the deafening roar abating. “…I swear I’ll stop him. Just please, please don’t. Don’t hurt him; don’t touch him. I’ll do it myself!”

“How can you be trusted?” comes his voice like thunder, but he doesn’t leave. He’s waiting, waiting for something.

“I will!” I look up, begging shamelessly, “I swear I will. This is my fault, not his! Let me fix it. Pease, just let me fix it!”

“What if you fail? What if it is too late by the time you try?”

I shake my head, and in the pooling water and whipping wind, fall to my knees. “Please…” I grip the rocky stones, losing control. “…please let me try.”

Slowly, the storm recedes enough for the sky to break through. It still rages on the surface, still swells and rains, but under his feet like a great throne. I’ll do anything to make this right. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for my sake, and I can’t let my people suffer for it either. I’ll make it right…I will because I have to.

“How will you do it?”

It surprises me into silence. _Is he listening?_ Will he really let me do this? Even if I could choke out the words, I don’t know what to say. I don’t have a plan…But it doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way. “Let me go down.” I ask anyway, ignoring my screaming nerves, telling me to stop, to think. “I’ll befriend him, convince him it’s a lie.”

He sinks from the sky enough to touch earth. “But this is not enough.”

I push back onto my heels, and through rain-streaked tears, I whisper, “Then what? What do I have to do? I’ll do it.”

He doesn’t move a long moment, and in his crystal amber eyes, I see cold finality, harshness, power. “You will take the stone of Ketedur.”

It takes a long minute, but I freeze, “W-what?”

“You will take the Stone of Ketedur, relieve him of all memory of you, and return with it for discipline.” He lifts a finger, and I can’t protest, not yet. The thought leaves me dumbstruck. “ _If_ you will do this, and if you succeed, we will not touch him further.”

“But…” I look around, panting, breathing so hard my vision spins. “…but I don’t have it. If it was possible, you would have done it long ago. Even if I could, even if Thranduil _gave_ it to me, Ketedur could take years away! No one could do this, not without taking _centuries_ from him.”

“I know that.” He stares harder, “But his years are unnumbered. He is not mortal. What does it matter? Find a way in and _take_ it. Would you rather the alternative?”

I shake my head, “But his friends! He won’t remember. They won’t matter, th-they’ll not mean anything to him… Oh, I can’t!”

“Then you will leave us to deal with it…” he trails off, before his voice deepens and quiets, more powerful, enunciating each word carefully. “…or you will bring us the Stone?”

“The Stone…” I whisper, and suddenly, trembling in the cold, pieces begin falling into place. It isn’t about me. It isn’t about Legolas. It never was. They want the stone. It has power, I know, but useless without the Faerie or the spells of Elves. They want me to take it, why? Do they fear it in the king’s hands after all these years? _Do they want it for themselves?_ I just don’t know!

“I-it’s guarded in the king’s halls. I can’t.” I rasp, staring at the ground, before clenching my teeth and looking up. I wish I had the power to back the venom in my voice. “You want it for _yourself_.”

For a moment, the storm stills to an almost deadly silence. The raging flashes of white still light the clouds, but here above, the quiet thickens to a deadly blanket. Slowly, gradually, sitting in the icy water and looking helpless and angry over the rolling clouds, I realize I have no choice. For the moment, they’ve taken them from me. Either way, I have to try.

“It is ours by right.”

I look up in a flash. “Well get it yourself _,_ then!”

He doesn’t even blink. His face is a mask, glowing and emotionless. “Certain charms placed on it prevent us access to that vault, but if you gain their trust, are allowed through, you will have it.”

“And through me, you!”

He lifts a finger, “Would you prefer we deal with the elf ourselves?”

“I-” I stop, slipping a hand over my mouth. I gather myself in, taking the last vestiges of strength I have. What else can I do? What other choices do I have? None, that’s what. Like in the taverns below, the smoky little pubs, the ones with the power and all the cards. There’s nothing else to do.

“I…I’ll do it.”  

Like the hammer pounding the seal of a grave, a clap of thunder ripples through the dusk and I stare into nowhere, breathless. _What have I done?_

“Good.”

A rush of air fills my lungs and I gasp. An invisible strength lurches me from the stones and into open air, and with whispered words that I don’t hear, a brilliant flash of blinding light ignites. Only the last, lingering words echo in my ears as wind and space race past in a blur.

“Let this word be your bond…”

So be it.

I wasn’t here to see the birth of men, the first elves land on golden shores. I wasn’t there to see the dwarves hue mountains of stone. But I’ve seen elves and dwarves live and die, kings born, sparkle to the peak of their reign, and then fade. I’ve seen pain and heartache, love, joy. Only now that I can do nothing for it, do I understand.

The black blur of wet leaves burst into view and I cover my face. Slapping branches and an explosion of light blasts open an expanse of forest floor; rain streaks down the twisting trunks and spatters wet leaves, sending them shuddering in the wind.

I land hard.

Panting, pushing wet hair out of my face, I lean on my arms, taking in great droughts of chilled air. _Mirkwood…_ it must be! A dizzy, lightheaded feeling blurs the forest, and I can’t see, can’t feel my limbs for a long, tingling minute. When I do though, I glance down in surprise. Pushing up out of the mud, a dirty, rain streaked tunic cinches around my waist, leather boots and leggings under that. It would seem I was part of a forest patrol.

I wipe my face, panting to clear my head, and it’s easier to keep this form than before. Maybe the almighty spirit gave me the strength, maybe to carry out my ‘mission’, or maybe just to demonstrate power. It doesn’t matter, I suppose, pushing out of the dirt and stumbling upward. I have a job to do…and it lies in the direction of Thranduil’s Halls.

Eru help me.

 

 


	4. You are...Legolas?

Well, that’s that. Drip… _one, two, three_ …drip…

I hold my arms miserably, shivering, counting the raindrops dripping from my chin. A wet, pungent smell of moist wood hangs in the air, clings to the mist rising from the forest floor. The rain lets up sometimes, a light pattering on the leaves, before falling in a chaotic, frenzied drumming. I hug my knees, muddy water soaking my skin and streaking in winding rivulets down my leather boots. The hair in my face is wet and heavy, drenched…and I can’t believe it. I simply can’t comprehend the stupidity of my own mind.

I’m lost.

Never in my life have I been lost, not even misplaced. What’s worse is I’m cold and miserable. It’s the robbing of my strength, this wretched curse. _It must be._ I can’t bear the thought of being so weak, so wretchedly helpless otherwise. It would need energy that I don’t have to lose this form, take in my surroundings, and retake it. So…I accept the only choice I have.

I wait.

The wet green leaves chatter and sway in the night-winds stealing through their limbs. Sitting here, soaking wet, they shiver through me too. I’ve walked in the rain, kicked up fall leaves, danced unseen in cool spring showers. It’s never like this! _Is this what it’s really like?_ I don’t know, but my senses are dulled, muffled. I can’t think straight. I’m tired and confused. Ever since getting here, I feel sick, thirsty…and what is this? Hunger? I’m not sure. All I know is that I’ve never felt it before.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, after huddling here, dejected, for what feels like hours, a shift ripples through the wet air, a change. I rest my head in my knees, icy droplets of rain pouring through the branches, but soon, a sound like distant laughter drifts past. I freeze, realizing the tremble in the wet earth is footsteps, and before I know it, a quick, almost hesitant jab with a stick hits me.

Before…I blink…or rather above, stands a dwarf. I snap my head up.

“Ya’ll right lass?”

At least I think it is… Just a silhouette stands in the silver sheets raining from the skies. What I thought to be a stick though, is the blunt edge of an axe handle, and as I look up, staring wide-eyed in surprise, he tilts his bearded face to one side.

“What… do ye not speak common, then?”

My vision swims and blurs a little, and I hope these are only the effects of whatever the Great Spirit did to me. Before I have time to answer, pushing the wet hair out of my face and looking around, a voice speaks up.

“Ya naa lle?” A dark, slender-framed woman rides to a snorting, stamping halt on a jet-black mount. His coat ripples and shines in the rain, and, as if I weren’t wet enough already, shakes his great head and upends a shower of droplets into the air. A merry laugh sounds from the blur of wet shapes behind her, and I only frown harder.

“Is there a reason you’re here, elleth?” she asks in the voice of a commander.

“I’m…lost.”

“Who are you?”

“I…” I think desperately, wiping my face. They wouldn’t understand my name, none of them would. Why did I not think of this? _Shouldn’t I have a name?_ I don’t have time to berate myself. I pull to my full height instead, trembling and lifting my chin. “I…was on the borders, sir. We were ambushed.”

“What happened?” She looks around, and as I focus in the dark, I realize there aren’t just elves here. More of the short, stout shapes fill it. The dwarf who spoke is only one of them.

“I…we were attacked by spiders.” I don’t dare look from the shadow of her eyes, and though it’s waned painfully much, and my voice cracks and breaks, I put power in my next words. She has to believe me if this will work. “We were on our way to the king’s halls. But…I was injured in the battle and woke up here. I felt lightheaded. I lost the time.”

“Why were you left behind?” She narrows her eyes, and shuddering violently in the cold, I can’t help cursing the great Faerie for putting me here. Why isn’t he here to help me? Why did he put me here, of all places?

“…That matters little now, Captain Falaviel.”

I look up at the voice, biting back the next shiver.

“Aye, can’t ye see she’s soaked to the bone?” the dwarf agrees, pulling his axe handle from the dirt, and rain streams from his beard. “And I can’t say better for the rest of us, I might add! So why don’t we get a move on?”

I wrap myself in my arms, smiling slightly at that.

“As you wish, my lord.” She looks away, but I know she doesn’t mean the dwarf. She reels the mount’s head around. Glowing green in the next flash of light, a quick flick of her wrist sends the company moving again.

I look back and forth, looking for a place to slip into the group unnoticed. They section themselves in two small clusters, hurrying to get out of the rain. I doubt the elves mind the rain like their short companions do, but I don’t protest. I’ve already drawn enough attention to myself. It’ll be easier in the halls of the King, I hope, with the confusion, celebrations and drink. I focus on keeping my balance instead. It tips and sways like a drunken man.

“Here, take this.”

I look up, only to find a water skin in my fingers, and the softer woman’s voice is coarse in the cold. I nod a quick thanks, but as we move, she watches me so steady through keen eyes, I can’t choke down more than a swallow. One or two of the elves ride, most on foot, and trailing a little ways behind is the company of dwarves. I drop back. Only three taller and leaner blurs in the dark walk with them, and soon, I find a hairy head trundling beside.

“You don’t look so good, lass.”

I blink, “W-What?” I wish I could see his face, and I wonder why the husky voice is familiar.

“I say ye don’t look so good.” He turns back to someone I don’t see, and I know he isn’t talking to me. “What say you, elf? She need a good stiff drink?”

“At the moment,” I can hear the smile in his voice. “I doubt the lady’s wish is ale, my stout friend.”

I glance to the other who comes up behind, and with a little effort, smile slightly. To be honest, I’ve never tasted it myself. I’ve heard wonderful things about it though. It must be terribly good.

“Oh, on the contrary,” I say hurriedly, “I…I love it.”

“Best thing in the world for what ails you, lass!” He winks, or at least I think he does.

“Whether it’s cold or a-anything but death...and then sometimes.” There’s a man further east who always says that. The dwarf breaks into a strange kind of laugh, and I grin weakly.

“See there, elf? Maybe we’ve finally found a pointy-ear to rival a dwarf!”

“Ah…and what of me? Or do you not remember our little contest?” he asks, and I squint in the rain.

A flash of lightning streaking through the clouds illuminates pale blonde hair slicked from his face. I hold my arms, shivering. The white bow strapped to the elf’s back gleams in the nonexistent light, and a haze clings to him and his companions, like new silver in the dark of night.

“I do believe the fabled endurance of dwarf-kind is exaggerated a little.”

I flinch in the icy droplets, before blinking, staring in surprise. How could he say such a thing in front of all these dwarves? To my further surprise though, a grunt of sorts comes from the dwarf, almost a chuckle if it weren’t a cough.

“Well, don’t you sit too pretty on that win, elf. I plan a rematch in the near future… _If_ you’re up to the kind of feasting I’ve heard _Thranduilions_ throw, that is.”

“I would not worry if I were you, _dwarf._ ” He says just a little more curtly. “The celebrations of my people put all others to shame.”

“Not dwarves!”

He makes a kind of chortle in his throat, and in the rain, it sounds more like a snort. I look between them, confused, “I wouldn’t bet on it, if I were you.”

“Then ‘tis a good thing my name is _Gimli,_ and not Legolas then, eh?” he shouts…and I freeze, releasing a short gasp.

_Legolas…_

The dwarf waves a fist, “Because I _would_ bet on it!”

No. It couldn’t be…that’s impossible! I look up, lips parting, and my stomach gags in my throat. How could it be.

“Y-you’re Legolas!” I rasp. I barely hear the whisper myself, but he stops almost instantly. I feel it. I feel his frown from the dwarf falter too, only once, and he darts over my shadow in the dark.

“Yes…?”

I was just –… and then it hits me. The cursed spirit did this. He did it on purpose. It’s all his fault!

I shake my head, covering my mouth and slipping violently in the next slosh of muddy water, dizzy and lightheaded. _How could he do this to me?_ I’m not ready! Not yet. The trees streak together in sheets of blowing rain. But then, Legolas reaches out and catches my arm, and I nearly collapse. His touch is like a jolt of the lightning flashing over the sky. He pulls me upright.

“- and as soon as we arrive, dwarf,” he quips back, “you will know the royal welcome of Thranduil’s house _._ ”

I realize he must think it’s the injuries from my supposed battle, because he keeps it there even as he argues on with the dwarf, paying no mind.

“That I will…and hopefully it will be more pleasant than my father’s stay.”

“Hopefully, you will be the better guest!”

_Thranduil…_ why does he celebrate now? For the return of his messenger, for the dark one’s defeat? I don’t know, but moving as fast as possible on the slick, rough trail to keep up as he releases me, I don’t have the wherewithal to keep my curiosity where it belongs.

“Feast, _why_ is there a feast?” I burst out, and suddenly, the dwarf slows. I almost hit into his back, feeling the sickness in the pit of my stomach becoming unbearable. He just stares at me, and even as I freeze, confused, I whisper, “What…?”

“Ye do not know?” he asks, as if it were obvious, “Who’s touched your head, girl?”

“Gimli!” the elf snaps, and I whip my head up. _Gimli…_ It’s true then. They’re returning home, the dwarf with him, with many delays and stops along the way. But it’s them! I can’t believe he did this to me.

“Kindly save your ill manners for the feast, when drink can excuse them.” Legolas bites back.

I don’t have time to wonder why they’re fighting. The dwarf is quick to retaliate, and I think the bitter, icy cracks of lightning streaking across the sky and the cold water streaming from his face is where the anger flares from.

_“_ Well who are you to talk, elf?” He shakes his head, throwing a hand out and gesturing to the woods. “We’re _guests_ to this _fine_ wood, and here we are, tramping through the rain and the wind!”

“If you’d had the feet of an elf, we could have simply run the trees and been there hours ago.”

“Well, many thanks for no small blessings!” he growls, and I look between them, suddenly feeling sick. Just the movement and the relentless cold brings what hit me ever since making it here, worse.

The arm brushing mine with every step, the words shooting over my head is the one I’ve wanted for so long!The thought is staggering… I feel invisible again. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I’ve never felt these things before, cold, hunger…exhaustion, and now, fear. Not like this. I don’t know how to deal with them.

“Gimli…Legolas, please,” I plead, half-choked, but only because I’m not thinking anymore. Something resembling fire sears my vision, waves of fierce, unrelenting heat burning the back of my neck like panic. Either that or fever, I don’t know, and I’m past caring. I think I’m going to lose my stomach.

“Just _stop_ it already!”

And suddenly, the world goes silent.

The rain beats just as thunderously on the forest floor. The footsteps and horse hooves trampling the wet, torn earth is as before, but they freeze then, and the words do indeed stop. The ones that snap the quiet in two though, are ones I never thought I’d hear.

“Silence your quick tongue, elleth!” the voice I don’t recognize snaps the silence in two. “You dare speak to the Prince of your realm as such?”

I’m not sure who it is, but he steps into my vision, and even in the dark, his eyes are fierce and shining. This is a warrior, breaking me from between the two with just the proximity of his face. I know well what Legolas’ hands are capable of, death and destruction, but I’ve never felt fear from him like this. I stagger back. _The prince…_

_Oh, gods_...is all I can think… _no_. Legolas? How could it be? How could this happen?

“The prince…” I whip my head between them. I panic My pulse screams through my head and in a flash of lightning, Legolas clamps his mouth shut tight. Rain streams from his chin and he stands stiff and uncomfortable, like the dwarf. I look past the glaring eyes of his warrior, “…I-it’s _true_?”

“Of course it is true.” The elf snaps.

“Stand down, Andaer.” Legolas lifts a placating hand, pushing him back lightly, and I stare at him in horror. There’s something like shame on his face. _For his heritage?_ It couldn’t be…arguing with the dwarf, maybe.

I shake my head. “No…”

Oh, why am I destined to fail? Why, out of all the souls in Arda, all the spirits that roam the skies, any other creature alive, is it Thranduil’s son who bars me from this? _How could have I not seen it? The spirit…why didn’t he tell me?_ He didn’t tell me! Oh, why didn’t he warn me this would happen?

I can’t speak, can’t breathe, can’t even keep my legs from collapsing. I can’t look at him anymore, shuddering violently in the icy wind blasting through my clothes. My knees give way and I fall.

Now if it were to happen in my head, or in any story where things go as they should, Legolas would not be focused on muttering things I don’t understand to Andaer. It wouldn’t be rain-soaked mud that I collapse into, and certainly not a surprised dwarf who reaches out to catch my head. Pure reflex, most likely.

No, it would have been his arms, my love’s. After everything, even all this, I think it might have been worth it.

But it’s not.

“Eh!” Gimli barks, breaking the muffled silence. His voice cracks in and out, rain splattering my face in icy droplets. “The lass is burning up with fever!”

Rough, calloused hands touch my forehead, short, strong arms under my neck, and through a wet blur, like a streaked, smudged window, pale blonde drops into the mud beside. Dark, fuzzy shapes fill the space behind him, but I don’t see. I’m already slipping, even as he shouts out to the elves ahead.

_Oh, Legolas…how could you do this to me?_ How could the Faerie leave me like this? Did he think I wouldn’t do this if I knew?

The last thing I feel, the only consolation to this feverish misery, is Legolas’ cloak whisked from off his back and wrapped around my arms. He pulls me into his arms, out of the mud, but I’m too lost to feel it. A woman’s voice snaps out orders that I don’t understand, or don’t hear… and I pass into black.

 


	5. Why Didn't You Tell Me?

Brilliant, glaring white sun…

I wince. _Why is it so bright?_ I slowly roll over and the crunch of reeds fill my ears. It smells fresh and green, soft like a carpet, and suddenly, I whip my head up with a gasp.

_Water…_

Blinking furiously, the splashing fills the quiet and I squint. White water bubbles and laughs over a bed of stones washed smooth in the current, dark and shining in the sunlight streaming through the branches. I look around. Nothing but hazy green and white is there, and slowly, my fingers curl in the dirt, feeling tender green blades of grass in my hands. I sit up on my elbows, and for a sickening moment, I can’t remember where I am.

“Really, I do believe I’ve outdone myself.”

I look up with a snap.

The glow of a very familiar Faerie sits near the riverside. He rests on a stone near the brook, and silver robes envelop his shoulders. In the light, his skin is just as white, and his dark eyes, nearly black, they stare at me in startling contrast to his silver brows. I’m not quite sure if it’s guilt in those eyes, or pride.

“T-tamling?” I whisper, rubbing my eyes.

Why can’t I make him out? Why can’t I focus? And then it hits me. _This isn’t real..._

Gradually, waving green branches blur into clarity. They aren’t real either. The heady scent of spring blossoms clinging to the warm breeze, it hangs lazily in the warm air. It isn’t where I am though, at least not my body, and I wonder what happened to it.

I hope he hasn’t done anything with me, the great one. If he’s taken me from my body, though I’m not sure how he could - I’m really never sure of anything when it comes to the elders’ power – my body will be suspended in a death-like stasis. It wouldn’t due to have tales of an elf ‘rising from the dead’ floating through the Greenwood.

“It is.” He smiles, “It’s good to see you, little one.”

Among the Faerie, every soul has a unique presence, not unlike the elves’ _fea_. Nothing more is really necessary, more than the feel of their spirit, but after spending so much time on the surface, it didn’t seem enough. So, I decided to give my friend a name. After all, words aren’t necessary to us, yet we still use them. What’s the difference?

“What are you doing here?” I push off my arms and hold my head. It should hurt. It _does_ hurt, but I can’t quite feel it.

The world is dull, muffled, and yet sensations that shouldn’t be are hyperaware. The breeze is empty, while the jingle of a distant chime is almost overpowering. Where the sun would climb a steady path across the sky, it doesn’t. It’s frozen, unmoving, as if a great hand stopped the clocks of time. All that seems normal is the stream running past. I remember rain though, waiting in the rain, and cracks of thunder.

“To see how you’re doing, of course.” He nods at something past me, and I crane my neck around, squinting in the light.

Green fields run past. They line the stream, floods of strangely bright light setting them aglow. It’s shaded here, but I can feel the intensity of its heat.

“Where’s my body? I mean…I mean where am I really?”

“On your way to the halls of Thranduil; I thought you could use some support.”  

“Support?” I squint, combing my hair back, before starting, “ _Oh!_ Oh…”

And suddenly, like a whipping hurricane, the rest comes flooding back, and I remember the dwarf, the captain and the soldier. It’s only another instant before the horrible words scream through my head again. _The prince…_ Gods. It’s true!

I snap my head up. “Tamling! Legolas, h-h-he’s the…the…” I can’t even say it.

“I know.” Something about his face looks disappointed, like he wanted the bliss of my ignorance to last a little longer.

“He’s the prince!” I splutter.

“I know.”  

“Then _why_ in Eru’s name didn’t you tell me?” I shout, and he winces. They had no right to do this to me!

“You really have spent too much time down there, you know.” He shakes his head, before sliding off the stone and walking over. “I’m afraid their crass mannerisms are wearing off on you.”

I stare at him in disbelief, panting and fuming, and I forget any relief I had at seeing him. How can he act so nonchalant? Who else knew? Everyone but me? Was I the only one playing a fool?

Slowly, he slides down beside, and I turn away, covering my eyes miserably. I’ve never felt so stupid. How could have I missed it? _Thranduil’s son…_ Of course he is. Who else would I fall for but the one person I couldn’t?

“I did warn you about that infatuation, you know.”

“It’s not an infatuation.” My voice cracks pathetically, glaring at him. I fight it down furiously. “And don’t tell me I should have known. _You_ should have told me!”

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he reasons, and though I don’t want to, I feel my glare subside a little. My chin quivers and I turn away. He looks tired, exhausted even, and for a Faerie, I’m not sure how that’s possible.

“Hurt me?” I shake my head caustically, and I hide the miserable tears swelling in my eyes. “Well, congratulations. You have.”

“…Trust me, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then who’s was it?” I demand anyway, snapping my head up again.

Tamling doesn’t answer.

Instead, he stares at something past me with a vaguely uncomfortable look, before gesturing. Again, I turn…and this time, I realize what he means. The glow of a rich gold glides through the branches and skims the fluttering reeds, from somewhere I don’t know. It doesn’t warp into form until it’s nearly upon us, and I whip my eyes away, feeling sick. I don’t dare look again.

_Wonderful.._. I don’t need to ask. I already know who it is.

I suppose dropping me sick and thirsty in a rainstorm wasn’t enough. I suppose lying to me, using me for whatever ends he wants isn’t enough. He can’t even let me talk with Tamling alone.

“It was mine.”

I close my eyes, keeping my head down. I lean into Tamling, and I forget what he did to me. Slowly, Tamling’s fingers rub the back of my neck. I feel the tingle of strength he lets bleed through his touch, and the warmth of his hand. It’s comforting in a sad kind of way, but I don’t dare look up. The anger in my eyes wouldn’t do well for either of us.

_Keep it down._ I remind myself, _for both our sakes._ I won’t ask Tamling to fight one of the most powerful Faerie in existence, not for me.

“If you remember correctly…” he continues, and I rest my head on Tamling’s shoulder, letting him rub up and down my spine in slow, soothing circles. He acknowledges the elder’s words with a respectful stare over my head, and even if I tried, I couldn’t tell him how grateful I am for it. With the knot in my throat, it’s hard enough swallowing down this misery and anger without having to look at his perfect golden face too. With every single glance, it tells me of the years he has on me, and no matter how much I want to fight it, I can’t.

“…I told you to keep away from him.”

_You didn’t tell me why._ I don’t voice my thoughts, staring at the strand of silver hair shivering and whisking over Tamling’s shoulders instead. He’d only see it as disrespect.

“And now it seems you cannot.” He folds his long fingers in front of him.

“You should have told me who he was.” I whisper, half muffled in Tamling’s robes.

“If you refuse to see this through, we will be glad to deal with it ourselves.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it!” I protest, and a gentle, firm squeeze tells me to lower my voice. I do…but only a little. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” I repeat more subdued.

“Good.” He sits straight, looking out over the water and very pleased with himself. “Then you will not stray from the tale I’ve set for you.”

I blink, lifting my head to look at him. I sense as much confusion from Tamling, and I’m glad I’m not the only one without the answers. I fidget with the silky robes he wears instead, staring warily, “What tale?”

“Lothlorien has sent a party of elves to Thranduil’s halls to aid in the clearing of the forest.” He says it like he reads it from a book, and he looks out over the water with a self-satisfied smile. “It is well-known that Thranduil has trained his warriors nicely for battle, but for the good of all, Lothlorien and what was known as Mirkwood will join together in force.”

“Clear the forest? Me?” I squint, interrupting, “But I can’t fight!”

“You will learn.” He waves a hand, before speaking on, “Of this particular group, which happened to arrive before the others, you were the only survivor. I’ve seen to it that this ‘first group’ is documented and was expected.”

I look away, leaning into Tamling, but I nod slightly. I’m sure he wouldn’t be telling me this if he hadn’t made sure there was some forged record about it.

“Soon, Lord Celeborn of Lorien will meet with Thranduil,” he continues, “and they will rename this wood Eryn Lasgalen, the Wood of Greenleaves. You will gain their trust by helping in clearing the forest of its evil.”

“You know this to be true?” Tamling speaks up, and I feel the vibration of his words against my face as I rest on him, “How?”

“The future isn’t set.” I agree, looking at the Great Spirit. “How could you possibly know?”

“Time is a stream.” He explains, his voice heightening, growing more aloof. “Any can see where it has come; most can see where it flows now. Those with eyes to see, those like me, can look down the stream and see where it will end.”

I only half-heartedly listen, still too busy thinking angry, unhelpful thoughts about him and his kind to care. Besides, his riddles and cryptic answers are too confusing to bother with. If he’s so all-powerful, why can’t he see what will happen to me? Why couldn’t he see the necklace I gave Legolas?

“Have no doubts of me.” He derides anyway. “Now,” he turns his head, breaking my thoughts, and for some reason, the amber gold of his eyes seems more unnerving than usual, “…I have seen to it that your injuries are minor, yet convincing. Blame lapses in memory for any inconsistencies you may encounter. You are nearly to the king’s halls, and inside those walls, it will be difficult to contact you. Do you understand?”

I stare at the water rippling past. “And what about questions…like my parents? Like what training I’ve had? What will I do about them?”

“Avoid them.” He replies, as if it were obvious.

_Easy to say…_ Again, I don’t bother telling him so.

“So it was you that made me so weak?” I narrow my eyes, staring at him instead.

“Of course.”

“Then _why_ didn’t you tell me?” I snap. Tamling tenses, and I sit up from his chest. The Faerie doesn’t answer though, and to my rapidly growing fury, the great one merely nods away and back again, as if it shouldn’t matter. He comes and goes as he pleases, does as he pleases. Who am I to question him?

“Why didn’t you warn me about Legolas?” I demand, and not even the tightening of Tamling’s grip on my arm can ease the surge of anger flaring at his detached expression. “ _Why_ didn’t you tell me Thranduil was his father?”

“The more ignorant you are, the easier this will be.” A moment passes, and he gets from the earthen seat he rests in, sighing. “I’d hoped it would be longer before you discovered it. But alas, it couldn’t be helped. You were too deep in Thranduil’s power by then.”

I shake my head, agape, and too confused to wonder what he means. “ _Longer?”_

“Your task will be many measures harder now. But our plans _will_ succeed, if you carry them out correctly.”

I look away, refusing to answer.

“You…” he lifts a hand, “…I will leave it to you to explain to her.”

I snap my eyes up to Tamling, surprised, but he merely nods.

“As you wish, Dhaer.” Tamling mutters, keeping his gaze from mine. The name means ‘greatness.’ Judging by the easing tension in the air, it pleases the faerie.

“I will leave you to it.”

With that, he warps into a distant golden globe and fades into the light.

“I’m sorry, little one.” Tamling sighs once he’s gone, and I pull part way out of his arms. His dark eyes are on the ground, slender fingers still on my shoulders, but lax, as if hesitant to stay.

I’ve known him ever since I can remember, the first day I breathed life, and I’ve never seen his eyes so heavy.

“Tamling…what does it mean?” I ask softly, and his broad shoulders wrapped in silver suddenly sink.

“I…am sorry Aernin.” He looks up, before nodding to my hands. “In case of difficulty, there’s a charmed bracelet placed on your wrist. If you remove it, your power will fade and you’ll not have minutes before you lose material form.”  

I can’t help glancing down, and on my bare arms, there’s nothing. He must mean on my real body… I blink. “Y-you mean…my curse hasn’t been lifted?”

He shakes his head slowly. “They’ve placed it in the bracelet. Many charms and protecting spells guard Thranduil’s halls. Only this way can the Faerie know where you are. They are forbidden to enter, otherwise.”

“You mean they’re using it to spy on me…” It’s not a question. I should have known they wouldn’t trust me. _Eru, not even_ I _trust me!_

“Yes.”

“But what will they know? What can they see?” I look up, suddenly horrified, “Can they hear everything I say?”

He shakes his head, lifting a hand, “Aernin, no…no. You will be in Thranduil’s halls. Without the stone of Ketedur, you should be safe there. Only when you have it-”

“ _-if_ I have it _-”_ I correct, and he nods, giving in.

“If you have the stone outside the king’s halls, its power will give them this ability. You see, if you don’t have it, they’ll not worry about you. You’re not a threat. If you have the stone and keep the cursed charm, they will force you to give it to them through this. If you choose to rid yourself of the charm, then you’ll not have the power or the knowledge to use the stone against them.”

I stare at the slowly waving grass. _Me, a threat?_ What could I possible do? I feel like a useless pawn…a silly, useless pawn.

“Oh, Tamling,” I whisper, shaking my head and burying my face in my hands. “…What should I do? What _can_ I do?”

He sighs, and I feel a shielding hand rest on my head. “Aernin…do you know why the elders desire the stone?”

I hesitate, before shaking my head. “No…and I wish I did.”

He’s silent a moment, before saying quietly. “They want it to go home.”

I freeze, before peering through my fingers. For a long minute, I stare at the river rushing past in confusion, “Home? What do you mean?”

Apparently, he thinks about it for a while, and he interlaces his fingers around my waist so I rest under his arm. I don’t think I’ve ever been gladder to have him. Ever since I can remember, he’s watched over me, kept me safe. He’s kept me from the Elder’s wrath countless times. They watched the weeks I spent on the surface with disapproval, but for his intervention, assuring them it was harmless, they never interfered…until now. I owe him so much.

“We don’t belong here any longer, Aernin.” He says quietly, and after a long while, he looks past the shining sun.

And suddenly, before my eyes, the white light fades and the bright blue sky warps into orange and pink. He lifts a hand, pointing out at the setting sun, and slowly, the stream reaches long silver fingers through the grass until the scenery warps and changes. The ocean sloshes gently at golden shores, beyond the sun, and he sighs.

“We belong across the sea, little one. We need to go home.”

_The sea…_ I squint, feeling the wind ripple through my hair, bringing the scent of salty sea air. I breathe it in, and with it comes a solemn feeling of longing. When it’s been a long while, many slow, passing moments, he says even quieter.

“I…plan to go with them.”

I blink, snapping up to look over his face. “What?”

His face is flawless, fair and running down to a slender chin. Silver hair ripples down his back, and in the falling sunset, his eyes are nearly black. They’re lowered to the distant ocean.

“I think you should come with me. I think you should complete this last task, forget all that was won and lost here, and leave these lands for the green ones that lie beyond the sea.”

“Leave…” I whisper, hardly believing my ears. I look away, scanning the horizon. _Leave…_ “B-but what about those still here? What about the Greenwood and the darkness leaving it? There’s still hope! We can stay, make it better.”

“But Aernin, that is for men.” He shakes his head, sighing and looking seriously into my eyes. They catch me wordless, and I freeze. I can’t believe what I hear, and yet, I can’t deny it either.

“The world belongs to men now. We have no place here. There was a time when we roamed the sea as we do here, visiting lands near and far. But without the stone’s power, we are stranded here. It is not only power, Aernin, but safe passage, our birthright. If we are to leave, we must have it.”

“But to leave…” I whisper again, and this time, he cups my face in his hands. Even when my eyes drop and he dips his head to look at me, I feel the indecision weighing in my mind. “… _leave_ him?” I whimper.

“Leave him.” He murmurs, not a command, but a request. “Leave the elf prince, leave the land of men and dwarves. Leave their troubles behind.” He lifts my chin enough to see straight through my eyes and to what I feel. “I know it seems impossible, but it’s the only way.”

Slowly, I pull his hands from my face and get up. He’s only a moment after, and as I stand on grassy sand, the breeze gusting around my feet and sending the waves crashing at the shores, I nod slowly. Gusts of hair snap back and forth over my face with the whipping wind, and I push it back. I stare out over the ocean.

_What is left for me here, after all?_ I’ll never forget, not while knowing he still runs the trees, still walks the forests of Arda. I couldn’t bear it.

Slowly, I nod my head.

“You are right, Tamling, as always.” I take in a deep, shuddering breath, hearing my voice break and pushing past it. “I will complete this task they’ve given me. I’ll get the stone, and I will leave to Valinor.” I look up, only once having to stop. “But I…I don’t know how I can do it to-to him.”

“Legolas?”

I wrap myself in my arms, staring at the ground, before nodding a little. _How can I?_ How can I leave him alone, destitute, without the memories that have shaped him? Truly, I’m a monster.

“You will, Aernin.” He cups my chin, lifting my face again. “It is the one thing you have no choice in.” I stare at his small, sad smile a long moment, and I wish I could give in and cry. But I don’t. Tears don’t help. Lamenting doesn’t help. Nothing but completing this will.

“Now go. Our time wanes. By the time you wake, you’ll be in the king’s halls and beyond our reach. Hurry.”

I pull away, wiping my eyes. _At least I know what I have to do_.

I shake my head hard to clear away the tears and fog, and I stride away…before turning back. I look at my friend, spirit and the form he takes. He stands as a tall, broad silhouette in the fading light, and with the same, pitying smile on his face… Nothing but trampled, gusting sand blows between us, and after another instant, I run back. I don’t stop until I slam into him, throwing my arms around his waist. He’s known me long enough just to take it, I suppose, because he opens his arm before I make impact.

“Thank you…” I croak into his clothes, feeling the salt in the air and on my face searing my eyes, before suddenly, he pulls back enough to hand me something. I glance down, sniffing and pushing my hair back again, only to find a writing tablet in my arms instead of him.

“I know not if this will work in the king’s halls, but try. If you need me…”

I smile, clutching the paper to my chest, and I don’t have the slightest idea as to what he’s given the simple thing, or how, or if it will work. He merely smiles though, and I don’t care. I’ll get through this. I’ll rid myself of this doubt and guilt, and I’ll leave with him to better lands. I’ll leave everything behind…and if I can’t, I’ll fade trying.

Just when the sun is turning to darkness and I can feel his presence fading, the ethereal world blacking out, he lifts a hand, calling.

“Choose a room farthest from the king!”

I manage a laugh.

“I will.”

_______________________________________                          

_Aernin – Little one_

 

 

**A/N: So...what are you thinking so far?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, criticism (positive or negative), is much appreciated. Feel free to tell me what you think. Have a great day readers!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The little Faerie has to face Legolas sometime...

 

Dusty shelves…cracked parchments…the chair balanced precariously on its hind legs, resting on a dust-strewn shelf…

Legolas breathed shallow gusts of air, head back, boots on the table, and mounds of yellow scrolls surrounded him. He’d been here for hours, much to the chagrin of his father’s librarian, and after the long journey home, he hadn’t realized how tired he really was. He wasn’t asleep, not really, but submerged in the waking dreams of elf-kind, unaware, oblivious to his surroundings, muffled in a warm haze of dreamless rest.

His foggy mind drifted and the sun sank slowly to the treetops, eventually settling on the previous night when he’d arrived home to his father. The woodelves were preparing a feast that would last days. They’d decorated all the halls in shining wreaths, symbol of their victory in the Great War, and his father was in the mood to match.

It was rare in recent years…very rare…and yet, when Legolas strode into the throne room, soaking wet from the rain and just in time for the last hours of his begetting day…his father stared at him with the closest thing to relief, maybe even affection, as he could imagine. The exaggerated reports of his demise must have had something to do with it, though he’d sent word of his arrival. News of the arrow incident travelled faster than he thought.

It was nothing compared to the surprise he felt when the king though, free of his winter-leafed crown, descended the throne stairs and froze there. Legolas smiled slightly, in his sleep, remembering the silver brows furrowed so hard over his eyes, the strange expression in the age-old gaze. He’d hesitated, standing motionless before him with a hand just touching his cheek, as if to be sure his son, standing wordless and still before him, was real. Then, with no one but a palace guard to witness it, the king gripped his arm and greeted Legolas with a warrior’s embrace.

He smiled again. It was a century since his father hugged him, maybe longer. He knew the strain his decision in Rivendell put on the king, though. They’d parted badly before he went to Imladris, something of inherited responsibility, the throne passing from father to son, and the crown he didn’t want. It wasn’t anything new, but it made him feel ashamed for fighting the entire trip. He remembered the strain his decision put on the king. He hadn’t meant to worry him. The simple gesture went a long way in patching the rift.

There was such a tight, suddenly tense reaction though, when Legolas told him of the strange recent incidents filling his head. When he mentioned the Faerie and the tales Gimli brought with him (the king seemed less comfortable with these than he had with an entire troop of dwarves wandering his halls, which said something), he’d kept the necklace safely out of sight.

It seemed the king had a strange kind of grudge against the spirits, one Legolas didn’t understand. He wasn’t sure what Thranduil’s reaction would be, despite the thing nagging at him, telling him to find out what exactly it was. He was glad he decided to protect it. But how would he do it then? Where would he get his answers, if not from his father?

It didn’t matter.

Whether it took a day or a century, he would get to the bottom of this…even if it meant reading mountains of ancient, cracked documents for myths, legends and old wives’ tales to do it.

Suddenly, a cool touch to his forehead jerked him awake and he snapped his eyes open.

“Prince Legolas…?”

His knees buckled. The chair slammed back to all fours and he flew forward, almost jolted to the floor, before fumbling for a grip on the table.

A woman stood before him, hands shrinking slowly back into enveloping folds of cloak. She didn’t start or jump at his violent reaction though, and cringing inside, he realized she’d been there for some time.

“What?” he croaked, rubbing his eyes using the inside of his wrists. In an instant, his back was straight and with effort, alert. “What is it?”

She just looked at him, and there was a strangely gentle expression on her face.

“Asleep?” she asked, soft as silk.

“Something like that,” he worked his mouth and chewed on nothing, clearing the fog from his eyes with a furious blink. “Can I help you?” He glanced up, and he could swear her face was familiar, if he could only place it.

“Master Gimli, the dwarf, is searching for you.”

“Gimli…”

“You’ve worried him.”

“Do I…” Legolas paused suddenly, “…know you?”

“I don’t think so.”

It took him an instant, but suddenly, he realized what it was. She was the girl in the forest last night! The one who passed out at his name…strange.

“I offered to help.” She explained softly, absolutely still, and he wondered what it was that kept her standing like that. “The celebrations are sadly in need of your company, the dwarf said. The guests are asking, and your…father is worried for you.”

He half-laughed, sliding a hand through his hair and focusing intently on the far wall, “Ah… they don’t need me.”

She tilted her head, staring hard, “But they celebrate for you. Of course they do.”

Legolas squinted, glancing up. She was quiet, lantern light lapping at her face; her eyes were wide and focused, nothing but velvety cloak enveloping her body. The expression was unnerving, like she tried with all her might to see straight through his eyes and into the depth of his thoughts.

It was uncomfortable.

“Yes, well…” He muttered instead of answering, looking away.

He set to rolling the scroll laid out on the desk, before sliding to the floor and gathering the parchments strewn over the stone. They were cracked and old, and he was sure there were more tears and frayed edges since he’d taken them out. Oh, well. His father’s scribe was one of the few elves in the kingdom who genuinely hated him, and it couldn’t be much worse.

After a minute, he realized she was still there.

“Yes…thank you. Tell the dwarf I’m fine,” he glanced up, expecting her to leave him to his business, “…if you see him?”

There was an arm’s distance between the hem of her cloak and his hands, and she didn’t shift closer, as if rooted to the spot. He looked up from the floor. Well _?_ What was left? Was he expected to say something else?

“…I am glad to see you better.” He guessed finally, and paused, “I trust the healers tended you as Captain Falaviel instructed?”

She didn’t answer.

“You looked less than peak condition…last night.”

“Yes,” she shifted, staring at the top of his head until the back of his neck tingled, “so did you.”

A touch of color bit his face, and he was glad she couldn’t see it. Arguing with the dwarf in front of her was embarrassing now, but Gimli was particularly irritating that evening. They’d gotten along much better after that, and there was no way of telling the girl he’d already apologized for it.

“I am better.” She said softly.

This time, he looked up to meet the clear gaze head-on.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about her, except for the eyes, maybe. Not the color, or even their almond shape. It was their intensity, the way she stared at him, as if memorizing every curve and line of his face. They were uncanny, focused intently on his lips as he tried to think of what she wanted…before he pushed the thought away.

“Is there something else?” Better just ask than risk offending her.

There was a startled moment on her part, and with that, she stooped to the ground and began gathering fallen scrolls in her arms. “Yes.” She did it awkwardly, and it hit him then that she was just as uncomfortable as he was. “I want to help you.”

He stared.

“What?” he grimaced at his voice. He wasn’t expecting that _._

The girl glanced up, crouched on the floor before him, hair in her face. She looked at him so intently he frowned. It didn’t stop her though. For a strange instant, Legolas could only stare back, just inches from her face… _What was it?_ Did he do something wrong? She certainly didn’t look angry…

“…Help you find the dwarf.” She clarified, and with that, smiled slightly. It was the first time, and for some reason, it was surprising. Her face was too solemn, too disturbed before, yet here it was. She looked genuinely happy, and suddenly, if it weren’t hiding behind shyness, he briefly imagined a grin appearing.

“You see,” she spoke faster, “He thought you may need assistance getting there. He said he would carry you, if need be. I thought you might be injured!”

Legolas scoffed at that, shaking his head and scraping the rest of the papers together, before setting to throwing them into some semblance of order. His father’s meticulous scribe would be furious at him for ruining them, arranged alphabetically and by topic. He hurried to right it, and in his haste, he missed the touch worry in her voice.

“He means that I have better things to do than wine with the troops and dance with every elleth in the forest.” He clarified instead, glancing over as she began helping him. He wondered if she really took the dwarf literally.

“But he seemed concerned.”

Legolas shook his head, “Truly, I need nothing.”

She just smiled again, stacking parchments and setting to walking between the shelves, placing them back in their proper slots. The girl didn’t look, not even when she robbed the papers from his very hands.

“Really…” he protested, shoving a few he knew he hadn’t read yet into his belt before she could take them too. “There’s no need.”

Apparently, she didn’t hear. She just side-eyed him an instant, before walking along down the shelf, stacking as she went. The way she did it though was less than graceful, and he couldn’t quite place it. Every step swayed, almost a stagger, like she was off-balance.

Legolas shrugged anyway. If the girl wanted to help, who was he to stop her? He started on the rest, and her voice called back to him from somewhere in the depths of the shadowy library. “The dwarf is persistent, in any case! He just might carry you back whether you need it or not.”

Legolas laughed a little, running a finger down the bindings for the letter he needed. When he found it, he tossed it in and called back. “He wouldn’t dare, I think! He’s persistent…but not a fool.”  

“I’ve a little trouble seeing the difference, actually...sometimes.”

A queer answer, considering. He didn’t comment on it though. Legolas paused instead, and in that moment, he looked through the shelves and caught sight of an auburn shadow ducking to the floor, bobbing back, reaching high on tip-toe, categorizing his work.

“…at least when he’s around you.” she added.

“Or he feels ready for a rematch in the drinking game.” He smirked wryly, still watching. There was something queer about the way she moved…but he just couldn’t place it.

She laughed anyway. The sound was only half-amused. Faint firelight danced through the cavern, shadowing where she worked. Her hair was tucked into the back of her hood, so he couldn’t tell how long it was, but it was a coppery color. Fringe framed her face, and in the lamplight and darkness, it shone much the same color, auburn... interesting. It was a rare color for a Mirkwood elf, common to their western kin instead.

And just like that, she snapped his thoughts in two and caught his eyes.

“He has great affection for you.” She looked over her shoulder, and he hurried to concentrate. There was something like a sad smile on her face, and it disturbed him more than the brief look should have.

“He says you’ve barely eaten in a fortnight.” she said softly, “You should take better care of yourself.”

Legolas frowned harder, but paused. What did she care about his eating habits? He’d never seen the woman before in his life! Her next words broke his thoughts in a gentler way and made him smile though.

“You see, it’s not good for him to be upset so. There’s naught more dangerous than an angry dwarf, except perhaps, a worried one.”

“So you feel appeasing the dwarf will spare the celebrations his wrath?” he nodded, understanding dawning. Of course she was here for the dwarf. She must be assigned it, given the task of keeping them happy.

“Indeed.” This time, her voice came from just behind him, but he didn’t bother turning. He heard, if not felt her approach.

Legolas smirked instead. “Then I thank you,...” he broke off, remembering he didn’t know her name. He prayed to sweet Eru that she hadn’t mentioned it. Women were offended so easily. “…elleth?”

She smiled.

The brief nod of her head sent him glancing around, and he found with surprise that the library was swept clean and orderly. Even the coating of dust on the tabletop was brushed away. It took half the time he’d expected.

“You’ve spared me wrath of a different sort, I think.” He said briskly, and he ignored the uncomfortable pit in his stomach as it realized that she turned back to him, silent, unmoving, unreadable. But something glowed, like just standing here was an inexorable joy.

“I…do not believe you mentioned your name.” he said carefully. “Should I know it?”

She shook her head, and in a quiet, almost hesitant moment, her eyes were just as focused on him. He couldn’t understand why she looked at him like that, but it made the back of his neck tingle again…and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. “I think not, Prince Legolas.”

“You won’t tell me?” He snapped out of his thoughts, surprised, and suddenly, he had to know it. It was unbelievable how much he could want something when it was denied.

“I…am not sure of it.” She smiled slightly, ruefully. “Injuries, don’t you know. They said it would return.”

He squinted, wondering if he heard right. Of course he heard right! She was standing right under his chin. “You do not remember your own name? How is that possible?”

“Hm, wouldn’t it be a tragic twist of fate if…” she glanced up, lifting a brow, “… if I didn’t have one?”

Again, he narrowed his eyes. What kind of a question was that? Everyone had a name.

“Well, you will have to tell me, when you remember.” he half-laughed, shifting back a step. He didn’t bother pressing it, and before he could think of anything else appropriate to say, her eyes snapped to the three scrolls wedged in his belt. He glanced to them, confused, but she spoke quietly, and her voice was different. It wasn’t curious anymore, not soft. It was sharp as flint, almost alarmed.

“You missed some.”

“Oh, I have not read these.” He explained, and he realized she’d taken every other piece of information from the table and dispelled them neatly in the shelves. _I hope I don’t need them again…_ he thought with a worried glance.

And suddenly, with a faint smile, ghostly in its insistence, she snatched them from him and tossed them into the shelves. They landed haphazardly and out of order, but she didn’t fix them like the meticulous others.

“What…” he stopped short, half reaching to grab them back, but there was immediately a smaller body in the way. “ _What_ did you do that for?”

“I’ve already read them.”

He just stared, shocked. “I need those!”

“It doesn’t matter.” She snapped curtly.

“What?” he nearly gasped. What if she did that with any others? It would take him hours to find them again. “I want to read them!”

She sighed, the kind of sigh an older sister would give a child, and it angered him instantly. “It isn’t necessary. I can tell you just what they say: useless nonsense.”

“Useless?” he couldn’t finish. What was wrong with this woman? Was it something he said? Before he could bring himself to answer, she dragged him back with a steady, focused stare. They looked deep into his eyes and steadied out.

“You’re investigating the Faerie.” It wasn’t a question. She didn’t wait for an answer. “You think they still exist. You think they’ve interfered in the trivial matters of earth.” He stared, lips parted in surprise, but she lowered her voice. The cloak enveloping her pooled at the floor and she was very serious, he realized with disbelief, and she leaned so close he felt her breath on his face. “You’re wrong.”

For a long minute, he wasn’t expecting anything to happen. The last of the sun faded completely, all but the warm lantern light snapping at the towering, dusty walls, and he was right. She didn’t move, not a stir, not a blink, as if wanting him to feel the truth of the simple words and accept it.

“How dare you?” he said instead. It was an annoying position at times, but he was the prince, the crown prince. No one, especially some strange girl appearing from nowhere, told him what he should and shouldn’t read.

She shifted back, nodding to the shelves and back. “Your father has told you the same thing. I know it. Why didn’t you listen?”

He shook his head. “ _What_?”

It didn’t make sense! Where did this come from? And why was he suddenly so furious?

“You refused to listen! Why are you doing this?” she asked, and it sounded more like a demand than a plea.

“You…” he said slowly, shaking his head and refusing to be drawn into this, “…you are not one of us.”

She froze.

“You are not of my people.” He repeated, more sure of it. “I have never seen you before.” Legolas narrowed his eyes fiercely, and suddenly, his pulse quickened. There was something more here, something wrong. Did his father send her here to convince him to give up? Was this a trap, a warning?

“Who are you?” he demanded sharply, and her mouthed flinched. He leaned closer, stepping between her and the door to block any escape. “Did my father send you?”

She swallowed, completely silent, and though he saw a tremble run down her shoulders, she squelched it and said quietly. “No.”

“Then who? Why are you here?”

Her breathing was a little nervous, not fast, but it caught in her throat. He heard it, felt the air grow warm.

“I am of Lothlorien.” She answered quickly, but there was a hardness in it. He waited tensely for every second to pass, and his fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white. “The Lord and Lady of the Wood sent us to pledge oath to Thranduil of Mirkwood. _That_ is why I’m here.”

He knew what she was talking about. In a week, they were sending elves of their own kind to Lothlorien, warriors and those who would train for future battles in a new environment. It would bring their two peoples together, unify them as it should have been, if not for the Dark One. But it didn’t make sense.

He shook his head, frowning in confusion. They weren’t supposed to arrive for at least a week, a fortnight, his father said.

“You are not supposed to be here yet.” he snapped. And what did she know of his search for the Faerie?

“We arrived early.” She said.

“Why didn’t we hear of it?”

“I don’t know! Why didn’t you?”

“You said you were attacked.” He said tersely, stepping closer.

“We were! Just outside the borders. There were three more. They were killed.”

“And yet you survived?” he tilted his head, staring at her suspiciously, “Why did you not tell Captain Falaviel this last night?”

Here, she faltered. A strange look of confusion crossed her face, and he couldn’t tell if it was genuine or not. There was a strange aura surrounding her; it set his teeth on edge. Suddenly, he realized what it was. He couldn’t feel her presence, her _fea_ , like he could others. It was clouded, deluded, almost nothingness, as if masked in an enveloping deluge of water.

“I couldn’t remember…I was injured.” She whipped her head up. “And that isn’t the point!”

He considered arguing, but in a moment, he realized he had to be wrong. If she weren’t supposed to be here, she wouldn’t be. She would have been stopped in the healing halls if there weren’t any record of it, and at the gates before that.

“Very well,” he said slowly, shifting back a half step. It cleared the way to the exit, but she didn’t move. He didn’t either. He had to ask. “Then if you are of Lothlorien, how do you know my father’s library?”

“I know all there is to know about the so-called spirits. Far more than your…” she scoffed like he’d insulted her, looking around, and he caught a flash of offense, “…your _books._ ”

Legolas almost walked away, but he was too angry. The curiosity was too strong too, and it outweighed the warning pit in his stomach. “How? You can’t even remember your own name! Or was that a lie?”

Here, she tilted a brow…but didn’t answer.

“How dare you come here, tell me what I think is wrong?” he snapped, suddenly wanting to know. “How do you pretend to know anything about me?”

He was too frustrated to realize that her words, so far anyway, were true.

“Because I do.” She replied, and after slowly shifting back, turning away from him, he felt the bristle in the back of his neck ease. Her voice was quieter now, subdued. “I’ve been down that path, and believe me, I know. The Faerie are nothing more than selfish beings of incredible power.”

He froze. “Then…they’re real…” He knew it! They had to be.

“Not anymore.” She said quickly, spinning around. Legolas glanced up in confusion, and she lifted a finger to point at him. “Many have looked for them. All have failed! Even if they _did_ live, you’d waste your time searching. Centuries have passed since they existed to earthlings.”

He frowned, “Earthlings?”

_Earthlings…_ What kind of a word was that for his people?

An odd groan ripped out of her throat and she grimaced, covering her face with her hands. “Just…” she sighed, slapping her fingers down, “Just trust me. You’re a…a prince. You have better things to do than waste your time on spirits and legends.”

He shook his head, almost to the point of laughing. “Who are you to tell me this? What do you know of me? I’ve never seen you before in my life!”

“What does that matter?” She shook her head, “What does any of that matter?”

“It matters a great deal.” He turned, about to leave. He looked back though, pointing at her in a mock gesture, mimicking her. “You are a strange elleth, and I have no need of any more strangeness in my life. Thank you.”

He shook his head, walking out the door.

The towering halls of his father’s palace greeted him. Out in the open, the queer feeling oppressing him in the library vanished, as if a sweep of wind gusted through the corridor. He was almost to the point of laughing. He sighed instead, running his hands through his hair. _What an experience…_

He descended a path arching around a stone stairwell, and great columns supported the ceiling here, lit in flashing lantern light suspended in their fixtures. The gushing of white water filled the cavernous hall. A river ran past below, and the great pillars were carved like the trees of Eryn Galen. Suddenly, he realized, glancing back, the little burst of sound he heard was an elf running out the library doors.

She was persistent. He gave her that.

“That’s exactly my point!” She struggled to keep up with his long strides, grabbing her dress off the floor and hurrying after. “Why do you need more troubles?”

He shook his head, not bothering to slow. She was almost tripping in her haste, and his step kept her at a jog. “That is none of your concern.”

He said nothing more rude. His father wouldn’t be happy if he upset diplomatic relations.

“It is _so_!”

“All right.” He gave in, spinning around, and she barely avoided running into him. She stood there, panting in either anger or fatigue, and he looked down at her with a narrowed stare. “Tell me why. Why do you care anything about me?”

“I…” she broke off, and suddenly, her eyes dropped. They were churning, spinning round and round, and he knew she was thinking hard. “My…father spent his life searching for them.” She said softly.

Well, this was new. He tilted a brow, curiosity piqued, and he dipped his head to meet her eyes. She refused.

“And what did he find?”

“Nothing.” She said immediately, before looking up. “…nothing of use. I know because he told me everything. No one ever has.”

“Well,” he straightened up, folding his arms, “…there is a first for all things.”

A long minute passed. He saw them tick past in her eyes, thinking, considering. He saw so many expressions darting through that stare, he couldn’t decide what she was feeling. Something told him he should leave, walk away, but the other, larger part, wondered if there was something here to help him.

“So…” she said slowly, quietly, “…you won’t stop.”

“No.” he answered carefully, because he knew there was more.

“No matter what I say?”

“No matter what.”

“All right.” She looked up, and slowly, her breathing quickened. Each came more tight, more nervous than the first, before she asked. “What if I help you?”

“Help me…” he frowned. “Why would I want that?”

“Because I know everything there is to know about the Faerie.”

He laughed, with no humor. “You are already convinced that they don’t exist!”

“Actually, I am convinced that they will not interact with earthlings.” She said this very hesitantly, as if watching the words coming out of her mouth. “You could prove me wrong.”

By now, Legolas could hear the high voices in the trees singing ballads to the war’s victory. He could hear the routy, joyous shouts coming from the partiers, smell the roasting meat, venison and wine. He didn’t concentrate on this though. He looked at the woman, or girl –he wasn’t sure which he thought of her now- stand before him, uncertain, nearly trembling under the scrutiny of his gaze. There was something pitiable about it, and finally, he felt his clenched fists relaxed.

“All right.”

She exhaled a soft breath, one she’d probably been holding.

“What do you want in return?”

She froze. “Want…?”

“Do you expect me to believe that you’ve come here for want of nothing?”

“I don’t want you to waste your life chasing dreams!”

“Hm,” he thought about that. There was genuine confusion in her eyes, and nothing but sincere doubt creasing her eyebrows together. Maybe he should trust her.

“Although…” the girl suddenly broke his thoughts.

“And now we have it.” he smirked. It was too irresistible. There was suddenly mischief in her eyes, almost guilty.

“I am…inept with the sword.” She said carefully, and his brows rose a fraction. It wasn’t what he expected…again. “I’m supposed to be here to help clear the forest and to learn, but in all honesty, knives don’t like me.”

He smiled, but only because he couldn’t help it…again.

“If you could,” her breathing quickened, and under the heavy cloak, he caught her hands together, wringing. “I’ve heard you’re the finest archer in the kingdom, and-and practically no one can best you at swordplay. A few lessons might help…”

It never got old, being asked to help for his expertise, rather than position. Some of his people were wary of sparring with him, afraid of accidentally injuring the crown prince. Admittedly, they never tired of competing with his marksmanship. Still, fighting when _not_ in a life-threatening situation…? It might be refreshing.

“Very well, then. We have a deal.”

Her exhale shuddered out into a breathless grin, obviously excited, and he couldn’t help wondering at what point his anger fizzled. It didn’t matter, really. The future was looking brighter.

“Come on. Gimli will be cross enough if I miss dinner, let alone leaving him to fight with the forest patrol. They have little patience for dwarves.”

“Good,” she shook her head and hurried to keep pace with him, and this time, he slowed enough to let her. “I’m starved!”

 

 

 

________________________________________________

I look around, shivering in ecstasy. Roasting meat, voices filling the trees, dancing swirls of color...A feast!

How many times have I hovered and watched these things from afar? How many times have I lingered in the shadows, never daring come closer?

Well not now!

Now I’m in the midst of it. The light is everywhere, dancing, flashing light. Lanterns lap at the forest glade and send orange and yellow sparking through the trees. I can’t do more than watch though; I can barely even stand without my knees shuddering and giving way. Of course I don’t know if it’s because of the Great Spirit’s tampering or not, but either way, the plate in my lap never seems to be full enough, and neither do I.

I sit cross-legged, munching happily and fascinated with the dancing boots and flashing shadows on my face. I’ve never heard their singing like this. It’s beautiful and joyful. I’ve never eaten like this before either. I’m not even sure what it’s called. At least I can enjoy it though. Legolas – _prince_ Legolas – I remind myself, has been off with Gimli the entire evening. A part of me is glad I’ve had these hours.

It’s very hard to concentrate on anything else when he’s around.

Suddenly, a light shadow covers my face. I look up with a start, straight into eyes like bright amethysts. There’s an empty wine cup in my fingers already, and too fast, after staring stunned an instant, I drink the rest of another.

They say alcohol loosens the nerves…So far it isn’t true.

“There you are.”

I swallow, nodding vigorously at the blonde prince and scrambling to my feet.

He shakes his head, waving me down. “No, sit.”

“I want to stand.”

He looks at me a long instant, before arching an angular brow. “Well, _I’d_ prefer to sit. So stand if you like.”

I don’t even have time to steel myself before he slides down at my feet, focused and business-like, despite celebrating all evening with his people. I can’t smell the wine on him though, even as I carefully sit down beside, despite the redheaded dwarf reeling and guffawing good-natured obscenities at his drinking partner.

“Here…I would like you to look at this.”

Slowly, I resume chewing. It takes a single glance to know what he wants me to see: old text. Chances are he can’t decipher it all. I stare at him sidelong. His eyes flick intently over the page, giving me a long moment to do it in. His hair is re-braided, shining in the bright firelight, and a white shirt, laced up the front, loosely hugs his shoulders. Even hunched over a book, his posture is perfect. It’s strange, seeing him so intent on writing...but he’s beautiful, even more so this close.

Suddenly, I’m very cowardly.

“I’m eating.” I glance to the leg of…something I hold, and I shrug, suddenly fearful of following up on my promise. What if the Spirit doesn’t approve? “I can’t think when I’m hungry.”

“You’ve had all night to eat venison.” He brushes me off, purely incredulous.

“Venison…” I blink, surprised, before grinning and I look up. “ _This_ is venison?”

He stares an instant too long, “Yes…deer. Now what can you tell me about this?”

“But I’m tired.” I protest, and I never imagined it could be so true. If I didn’t need to eat so badly, I’m sure I’d be asleep. I thought I’d have until morning to prepare myself, at least. I feel like I’m walking blind. The mere sliver of air between us, feeling like a charged sheet of glass, only makes it worse.

He sighs hard. “I thought you agreed to help me!”

He’s right. I did. It’s the one promise I can keep.

“Oh…all right,” I look away, slowly folding my legs under me and setting to fiddling with the berries on my plate. “What do you have so far?”

To my vague surprise, he spares no time in shoving the torn book into my hands. Some of the letters are worn away, the rest smudged, and there’s what looks like an ink-spot in one corner.

“What is this?” I squint, despite myself curious, and the rapid pounding of my heartbeat subsides a little. It’s even more interesting than the raspberry I swish around in my mouth, letting its tartness settle on my tongue. I’ve never tasted anything like it. It distracts me from the tingle rushing up and down my neck as he leans close, and I breathe easier.

“The book is old, obviously. It was in a place of my father’s library I’ve never seen. Look…” he gestures eagerly, “…It says the spirits spoke an unwritten tongue, in the elder days. They loved language as the elves did, then. At least this one did. It seems the others were not so interested.”

“Well, who wrote the book?” I squint, scanning the text. None of my kind did, I’m sure, despite the familiar writing. Material history and literature are worthless.

“A mortal man, named Larius. When one spirit taught this human scribe their tongue, he wrote down everything he learned in books. They were the first to put it in writing.”

I blink. “Well, what happened to them?” This can’t be good…more evidence. Why would a poor mortal man write nonsense about spirits that don’t exist? He wouldn’t. I have to try anyway.

“That’s just it!” he shakes his head, “I do not know. A great fire destroyed some of his teachings, killing the scribe in the process, but most of them were rescued. His home was near the southern border of Eryn Galen, and the woodelves gathered the Faerie’s teachings. No one’s seen them since.”

“When was this?” I ask slowly, flipping carefully through the worn pages.

“An age ago…long before my lifetime.”

“Hm,” I skim through what I can of the text, but some of it’s unreadable. Mostly, it talks of a particular spirit who taught the young scribe. He never gave him a name, apparently, but they must have spent much time together for all this to be recorded.

Legolas is silent an instant, looking to the book and back, and with a sinking feeling of regret, I realize he’s hopeful. “Can… you read it?”

A long minute passes. I wish I knew what to do. What else _is_ there to do? I’ve lied to him enough.

“Yes.” I hesitate, before saying softly, “I can…but you don’t have it all here.”

He blinks. “What do you mean?”

“There’s so much missing.” I set my plate aside, unfolding my legs and lifting the book into his lap. My pulse settles to a dull throb, and I force it down the rest of the way. “This is an introduction…like a diary. Some of the pages are torn out, but I think each entry is a daily journal.”

“Read it to me.” He says immediately.

I shake my head. “What does it matter? This won’t help you find your visitor.”

He blinks, and suddenly, a slow realization grabs the base of my spine. _Oops…_

“How did you know of her?”

I think fast. “I… I think the whole palace knows.” I laugh tightly, more of a squeak. “The servants know everything!”

It doesn’t even phase him. “I have no servants.”

“Oh.” I freeze, and my heart splutters. “I-I guess…”

“Gimli.”

I start, staring at the ground, before looking up carefully. “What?”

“Gimli told you, didn’t he?” Legolas asks, almost angry, but he’s turned the frown on a shouting dwarf across the glade, not me.

Guilt almost makes me say ‘no’, but I crumble instead. “I guess so.”

“He had no right.” He clamps his mouth shut, staring at the ground. His fists clench and unclench in his lap, and slowly, I feel something sink over me. Concern.

“It’s not his fault.” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer. I look down, watching him clamp his jaw so hard the vein protrudes, and I wonder if it’s really the dwarf he’s angry with.

“Are you all right?” I squint, and when he looks away, still gripping his hands, I smile softly. I never imagined being this close, and yet here I am, too frightened and nervous to enjoy it. Of course he’ll have no recollection of my time here…or the dwarf, I think sadly…but I can at least revel in it while I can.

“You’re tired. You need rest.”

To my surprise, he doesn’t frown harder. He just sighs, and the lines creasing his forehead ease. “Yes, as I’ve been told…” he smirks, just a little. “…and told, _and_ -”

I laugh out loud, slamming the book shut, “And doesn’t that tell you anything?”

“It tells me the entire world is against me!” He laughs, only half-serious, and I lean back, holding the book against my chest and folding my arms around it.

“I’ll read this tomorrow.” I promise. I can’t resist a little more though. “...and you’ll see that there’s nothing to it.”

Legolas glances over slowly, and suddenly, he’s serious again, flicking over my face. I just stare, unmoving. I try to imprint every spark in his eyes to memory, every shade of blue they turn. I remember the way the red light dances in them, red on blue, like fire on a lake.

The book goes lax in my fingers and I can’t stop from leaning closer, just enough to feel the warmth emanating from his clothes. To think none of this would have happened, if only I’d stayed away. And yet...what if the arrow met its mark? What if there was nothing left of him, nothing but a hollow shell…

I shudder. I couldn’t stand it.

Slowly, I risk a careful look to the silver chain gleaming under his shirt. It’s a small comfort to know he wears it. When I look up though, there’s nothing in his gaze that tells me what he’s thinking. Something’s shifted. He’s calm, collected.

“You will not move me.” he says it quiet, steadfast, and I can’t meet his eyes after he speaks those words. “I will find her.”

I don’t move a long minute, breathing softly, and I wonder what he would say if I told him what he searches for is right before his eyes. If I told him every step he takes down this road brings both of us down. If I told him he’s broken my heart without even trying. He’s ruining my existence enough, just by being...

I don’t know. Laugh maybe.

Well, I decide, the dwarf won’t remember much of this anyway. So I may as well dig his hole deeper.

“Do...” I hesitate, “...do you like it?”

He doesn’t answer a moment. I look at the soft impression of pendant leaning against the inside of his shirt, and he glances to it.

“He told you of that, as well?”

I think about it. “He was drunk.” I answer honestly.

Legolas just sighs. “What is there not to like?” He shakes his head, before slowly pulling the chain out and sliding the pendant into the v of his palm. He traces its moon shape, tilts it back and forth until it reflects the light like a thousand stars on a blue background. He squints though, pausing.

“What is it?” I ask, looking between them.

“It’s much warmer than usual.” he fingers it, passing it from palm to palm. “I’ve noticed it grow warm on my chest frequently lately.” he mutters, as if to himself. “I suppose I’ll never know what secrets it holds.”

I unconsciously lean away. I’m not sure what it does either.

“It was cold for Gimli.” he smiles slightly, as if reliving a particular memory. Suddenly though, as quickly as that, he snaps his head up and shakes it, blinking. I think he’s remembered who he’s talking to...just a strange girl. “Forgive me.”

I drop my eyes, sighing softly, but I can’t helping thinking. This is the longest I’ve ever been human in my existence. Well...I think about it...not human, per say. I’m not sure what I am. My ears bear a slight point to blend in with the current surroundings, but I wonder if I’m anything, really. Probably not.

“I expect you would like a lesson tomorrow?” he breaks my thoughts suddenly, and I whip my head up, wondering how long I’ve been wallowing in my own pity.

“T-tomorrow?” I stutter, taking an instant to catch up.

“The rest of your people will be arriving in a weak.” he explains, “I thought you were expected to help us clear the forest...?”

“Oh!” I sit straight. My people...fighting...I pray for sweet Eru’s mercy. “Yes, I suppose. I don’t know any of them, though.” I clear that up right now.

“None of them?

I freeze, looking up. Is that strange? I suppose it is.

“Not really. You see I’m here really to learn.”

He nods slowly. “And the elves arriving are experienced warriors...”

“Most of them. They’re always in the training grounds, you see...” I mutter, “...training.”

He chuckles, slipping the pendant back into his shirt, and his eyes drift from the book in my arms to the dancing shadows flashing past. To my surprise, there’s an easy smile parting his lips. “Ah, many a happy hour I spent in the training fields.”

I smirk a little, incredulous. “Happy? I don’t think that’ll exactly be my experience.”

Legolas merely scoffs, sliding back until the side of his shoulder leans against the same trunk I do. “Perhaps you have simply never been taught by me.”

I shake my head, fighting down a laugh. “Perhaps you’ve never taught a student like me. I told you, knives don’t like me.”

“They’ll learn.” he gestures to a blur of pale blue, whirling through the crowd in a dance I can’t quite follow.

“Urendiel? Do you see her?”

I nod slowly.

“On the battlefield, she was one of the most inept in grace. Yet, after a single season of training, she fights with the best of the guard.”

“Her?” I ask incredulous. “ _Inept_?”

He nods. “Watch her dance.”

I watch.

“She’s beautiful.” I state bluntly, and I don’t see anything but perfect poise in every step. Blonde hair ripples down her back in sheets; her hands spin through the air from shoulder to shoulder in the crowd…perfection in its purest form.

He just sighs. “Yes...But you will learn, as well.”

I swallow an uncomfortable knot in my throat. If that creature was ever clumsy, I think he’s never watched me under this wretched curse. I have to do it though. There’s no choice in that. After all, there’s no better way to gain someone’s trust than fighting at their back. At least the Great Spirit seems to think so.

“I hope I don’t kill you.” I mutter weakly, and he smiles. For once, I think the book I hold slips from his mind.

“Tell me of your family.” he leans back, lifting a knee to his chest and watching the celebration with a relaxed, peaceful gaze. I let that sink in a minute.

After all these years, I finally sit here, right in the midst of it all. Legolas sitting peacefully not inches beside, asking about my family... _and all I can tell him is lies._ A snake coils in my stomach, sick like regret, and only when he glances over, curious, do I force it from my face.

Of course he would ask, eventually.

“I...I don’t think there’s very much to tell.”

He shrugs. “Then tell me what there is.”

I can’t even ask why he wants to know. It’s natural, normal, not like me. Everyone has a family to tell about, a name. Everyone has something to give. Why shouldn’t he ask such a common question?

I stare at my hands, letting myself sink into a depthless pit of guilt a long minute, before starting in a whisper. I make up useless facts. Some of the tales of my dead father, I weave Tamling into. I say as little as possible, just enough to sound fond of them, and I don’t think he minds. The periodic question is the only break in my hesitant monologue.

My mother was beautiful, of course. I wish I’d inherited her looks. He has to laugh at that, but I suppose if I did have a beautiful mother, that’s what I would say. I’m not sure whether or not I should kill her too; I can decide later. It seems terrible to kill someone I never knew.

In a strange, sick kind of way, I enjoy talking about my life. I wish I had some way to explain the weakness this curse gifts me with, but all I can really say is that I inherited clumsiness from an ancient ancestor. Perhaps he was mortal. He listens silently though. I think he’s only too tired to fall asleep. Otherwise, I doubt he’d be here with me.

After a long while, he finally speaks up. “You seem to remember all this well. How is it that you can’t remember your name?” By now, sitting on the outskirts of the party in semi-sheltered forest, he’s slid down onto his back, head on a tree root. His fingers rub idly at the bark, almost a caress, and he watches the celebrations without glancing up again.

“The healers said that sometimes, the strangest things will go. They assured me it was most likely temporary.”

Sweet Eru! Why can’t I just think of a name? Any name! It seems blasphemous to do it though. I don’t deserve one.

He’s silent at this, and I wonder if he believes me or not. Either way, he inhales deeply, pushing off the ground and shaking his head. The moon is already on its steady, downward slope, and he looks up to a red-haired Gimli a distance away.

“I think it is time I escort my friend to a bed.”

I smile slightly. Despite the fact I have no idea how to get back to the room they showed me, I don’t say anything. I glance to the reeling, shouting dwarf instead. The way he watches Gimli like a protective brother is almost disconcerting. He cares about him so much. It sends another wave of guilt rushing through my determination.

“Have fun.” I say softly.

He’s on his feet and a step away at that, before turning around, pausing. “Well…Have you something better to do?”

I blink. “What?”

He folds his arms, and suddenly, I see a smile dance behind his eyes. They’re tired though, I can feel it from here. He grins anyway. “Let this be your first lesson: swaying intoxicated dwarves into submission. When the time comes, your skills will be irreplaceable.”

I almost laugh, and with a little help from the tree, get up and jog after him. I’ll worry about finding my room later.

________________________________

 


	7. Chapter 7

_________________________________

_Dearest Tamling,_

_Are you well? I miss you. I’m so tired, I can’t think of anything else to say. Forgive me, if you can even read this. Don’t worry about me. I’m all right._

Slowly, dawn light filters through fringe and I crack my eyes open. I swear it comes earlier every morning. A soft groan escapes my lips as soon as I move. For the past three days, every morning is spent sparring with Legolas. Admittedly, there are worse ways to go, but I feel every fall, bump, and hit of the wooden staffs we use now. It’s just worse now.

In a blurred, half-groggy state, I drift back to the first morning.

The training grounds…Wet dewdrops laced every blade of spring grass; my boots kicked up white fog with every step. I remember the way he sat against the misty tree trunk in the pre-dawn light, dew clinging to his face in the haze. He rested so still, I thought he might be asleep again, I hovered a step too far away, wondering at the shining droplets caught in his dark, thick lashes. He was beautiful…

It was almost impossible to force myself up that early, but that single moment was worth it… I smile, sighing into my hand. His eyes were closed, as serene as a cold, white statue.

“Are you ready?” he asked so suddenly I jumped.

I thought fast. “Are you?”

“I am here, am I not?” he said, soft as the morning breeze.

“You look asleep.”

A small smile pulled at his mouth, and with a surreptitious glance, I noticed the small, leather-bound book tucked under his folded legs.

“Ah. Then I must be talking to you in my sleep.” He cracked his eyes open, squinting up at me, and I was just fast enough to rip my eyes away. I don’t need to ask to know what he was reading.

“Let us start, then.” He leapt to his feet as graceful as a spring deer, wedging the book into his belt, before reaching into the grass for two wooden stakes. I hadn’t noticed them before.

“With those?” I asked, wondering if I was disappointed or relieved. I was less likely to kill myself with them, but I didn’t feel nearly so accomplished. After all, sticks are sticks.

“Yes.” Legolas tossed one to me, taking a deep breath, shrugging his shoulders. He circled around me, pausing, bouncing on his feet, as if to prepare me more than himself. I stared at him warily.

“Very well.” He raised the staff. “Block me.”

I never could have. The instant the rod left the air, aiming straight for my face, I leapt out of the way and my back slammed into tree. The rush of air from his blow billowed my hair back. In the same instant though, I saw he froze a fraction of an inch before my face. He never lost control.

“That was a dodge…not a defense.” He swept the stick away and stepped back, letting me take up the position again. “Now, block me.”

He came in from the same angle, slower this time, and I threw the stick up, blinking furiously at the _slam_ they made. I could feel the strength behind it, how he held back, but it didn’t help the shudder running up my arms. It rattled my teeth.

“Do not be afraid. I will not hurt you. Just fight!”

I didn’t think I was going to be very good at this, but I tried anyway. I was right.

He did it again and again, sometimes slower, sometimes faster, harder and less so, but every time an instant too fast for me to properly block it. I kept back-stepping, missing, glancing off his stick until the tip broke through and nudged me. He was careful that first time, but the next few days, he seemed to realized I did better when I was afraid of getting hurt. I rued the day.

He apologizes nearly every time of course, as if it were accidental, but I know better. His smiles couldn’t shine with so much mischief if they were.

“What’s wrong?” he asked yesterday, near the end of a session, and I threw the stick to the ground, panting in a sweat. I was on my back, knocked over with a shove of his arm, and I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed my fists furiously instead of answering, refusing to let tears swell.

I’d never felt physical pain like this before. I wanted to cry, shout or curse, something, but it didn’t help. The enflamed sores in my palms screamed. I couldn’t heal myself; I didn’t have the strength. I stormed away without a word…

This silly, weak body is infuriating.

Slowly, I shift in the sheets, turning over and letting the feather light mattress conform to every curve of my body, support every aching muscle. It feels incredibly good. The light streams in yellow and warm, delicious, and after another minute of steeling myself, I crawl out from under the coverlets.

It’s strange, but I’m already getting used to the beautiful thing called sleep. Out of habit, I check to be sure the bracelet still dangles around my wrist. I’d have only a few minutes to keep this form, if I lost it and couldn’t get it back. It’s a queer feeling.

Suddenly I stop, eyes glued. A pure white envelope rests neatly on the floor, in the crack of my door. Someone must have left it. _I wonder…_ I kneel slowly on the hard wood, shivering once as my knees touch cold.

There’s no name on the paper, and I hurriedly flip it open, curious. Neat, black script rewards me.

_Elleth,_

_Forgive me, but I must cancel this morning’s session. My position has its duties that I can no longer ignore. You regretfully may be unable to read me more tonight, but I will try._

_\- Legolas_

My brows arch a little, staring at the note. Every night since my promise, he’s cheerfully forced me into translating every bit of text he can find. We usually do it in the evening on some secluded porch, and I think it’s because he doesn’t want the rumors about him and his ridiculous obsession to spread further. I’d like to think it’s because he likes to be alone with me…but the idea’s almost as laughable as my pathetic hands.

I sigh, opening my fingers. He thought I was angry with him last morning, when I stomped away, and I feel more than a little sorry for letting him think it. He must have thought he’d hit me too hard when I flew to the ground, and of course, pride didn’t let me deny it.

“Oh, well…” I mutter, looking away and tossing the sheet to the desktop. That quiet, breathy voice of his and his perfect, beautiful eyes have driven me mad for days, years I think!

“It’s time he knows what it feels like.” I growl, walking away.

Out in the open, I look around, rubbing my arms and shivering. A soft, pale blue dress pools at my feet. I’ve decided to take advantage of the day off. The leggings and shirts the female guard were good enough to give me (a favor to Legolas, I think, judging by a few of their expressions) are comfortable and practical, but there’s something exquisite about the feeling of sheer silk on my skin. These physical sensations never seem to get old.

I’m not sure how long I wander the halls, great caverns, winding stairwells and waterways running through the palace, and I find that King Thranduil is a lover of knowledge. I count three libraries so far, all vast caverns filled in shelves to the ceiling, packed to the brim with untold knowledge, stories, and history. It makes me no less fearful of him, of course, but I wonder if the stories are true…or at least all of them.

I look through the high doorway and into one, tracing the shelves, the parchments and leather-bound books at every edge. Ladders climb to the ceiling and line each wall…

How could someone who would collect all this and give it freely to his people, be so terrible? Did he really banish my people with the power of the stone? Did he really do it just to hold power over them? It’s what I’ve always been told, but I just don’t know. Was he afraid of them? Did he forbid the Faerie’s presence in his kingdom just in spite, or was there a reason?

Sadly, I doubt I’ll ever know.

 

*********************

 

The training grounds.

In all honesty, I’m surprised the girl isn’t here yet. It’s mid-morning already. Usually, at least in the few days it’s been since we arrived, they’re here at the crack of dawn…the she-elf and Legolas. I come here most days to watch, offer a few pointers to the girl.

Legolas seems to appreciate it. She was hopeless the first two days.

I settle on a wood bench off to the side, watching him pace in circles. He swings a shining knife in one hand, and in the dappled sunlight pouring faintly through the trees, he walks a track in the grass. Only a few elves are off on the archery fields, the rest, I assume, clearing the forest.

“Is she late again, lad?” I call out, pulling out a pouch of weed. It tastes best in the early morning…or noon, I suppose. Actually, it’s quite good in the evening, too.

He snaps his head up, startled. _Well, that’s strange_. I never could sneak up on the elf, even when I tried. What has him so distracted now?

“Ah, no Gimli.” He half turns, a frown creasing his brows together. “She is not late. I left a note at her door. I was… forced to cancel.”

I lift a brow. Legolas…fall through? Now that’s new.

At least he’s seemed to forget that I said more than I should to the girl about his fairy. I don’t remember any of it now, but I suppose the fine elf wine had something to do with that. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said the king only drank the best.

“What happened?” I snort, pulling the pipe from my pocket and setting it alight. “Is she getting too good for you?”

The elf laughs, genuine and easy for once, and he runs a slender hand through his hair. “Not quite...but I must be off. I am late already. I only wanted to ask a favor of you.”

I grunt. “What are you waiting for?”

He smiles a little. “I thought perhaps you could ask among your kin for tales, any legends that could help me with the Faerie. I know you think what I am doing is foolishness, but you did promise to help me in it.”

I nod, barking out a laugh. “I’m already ahead of you, lad...as usual. I’ve asked and been answered. Last night, in fact.”

His eyes brighten. “Really?”

“Aye.”

“Tell me, then!”

“I thought ye said you were late?”

“Oh…yes,” He sighs, half-turning away, before looking back. “Tonight, you will tell me. I have no time now. My father is preparing for the arrival of the Lorien elves at the new moon.”

“Aye then, I will.” I promise, before lifting a hand just as he grins and spins around, about to run off. “Wait! What about the little she-elf?”

He blinks. “What about her?”

“Are ye just going to leave her to her own devices all day?”

He shifts back, surprised. “Why ever not? Do not worry, my friend. She has no wish to see me anyway.”

“Why? Did ye insult her?”

“Of course not! I merely knocked her down too hard. She was furious with me yesterday.” He frowns a little. “I think I must have hurt her.”

I can’t help letting my brows lift a fraction. She didn’t strike me as the type to mind a little rough-play. “I’ll check on her later, then.” I promise, not bothering to pull the wood stem from my teeth.

Legolas nods. “I would appreciate it.”

With that, he grabs his bow and quiver from the grass and lopes gracefully away like a young deer. I sigh, shaking my head. _Elves and their folly_ …

 

           *********************

Somehow or other, I find myself in the kitchens.

_Washing dishes_ …what’s there to hate? I’ve seen all the little pubs, all the inns scattered across the countryside. Dirty dishes are the bane of women’s existence, it seems. What’s so terrible? I rather enjoy it.

I suppose the fact that the lukewarm, sudsy water feels good on my hands might have something to do with it. I don’t use very much soap though. It burns the sores in my palms.

At first, the kitchen chef objected to my helping, once he knew I was from Lothlorien and a guest. I finally managed to convince him. Mid-noon meal among the palace guard runs the rest of his help off their feet, and with the fabulous dinner he’s preparing for another feast tomorrow, he could use the help…

I could use the relief.

“Lass! There ye are!”

I look up with a snap, and with a brilliant shatter, the plate flies from my fingers and crashes to the floor. I leap back, horrified.

“Oh gods…” I gasp, shaking my hands off. My heart settles to a dull hammering at the sight of the burly dwarf. “Gimli…”  

“Sorry, lass.” he side-eyes the shattered glass, heavy boots stepping around. “…didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I-it’s all right.” I glance around hurriedly, collecting myself, and the wood counters filled to the brim with food and pots, dishes and utensils are all but deserted, at the moment.

Lucky.

“What in Arda are you doen’?” He looks around, and with surprise, I notice the fine, silver tunic belted around his torso. I’ve only seen him in travelling clothes and armor before now. I suppose he’s kind of an important personage, then, a war hero.

“Washing dishes…” I answer simply. “You look fabulous, Gimli. I’ve never seen you so polished. What’s the occasion?”

He grunts, but at the last, a strange kind of smile twitches at his fiery, braided beard, “Fabulous, eh?”

I grin, stooping to clean the glass into a basin off the floor. Mid-day sunlight streams through a tiny window, a rare thing, considering most of the palace and stronghold is underground. It’s strange, but despite how heavily fortified this place is, I’ve found they seem to weave green and space for light into everywhere possible. They are elves, after all I suppose. I’m just a little surprised they care so much.

“I was bored.” I look up, careful to keep my palms down. Gimli and my ‘combat trainer’ are good friends; I doubt he’d keep it to himself if he saw them. “Prince Legolas is too busy for a lesson,” I laugh a little, “…and even for finding his Faerie, if you can believe it.”

He scoffs a deep, throaty laugh, and I wonder if I’ve missed a private joke. “You have no idea, lass.”

I shake the rest of the glass into the bin, before sliding down cross-legged on the floor, wiping my hands on a wet rag.

“Do you always call him that?” he asks, and I look up, a little surprised he’s still here.

“Call him what?”

“Prince.” He furrows his bushy brows, “…You know he practically hates the title, right?”

I sigh, “I know.” A moment passes, and I drop my eyes, turning the towel slowly round and round in my hands. “I do it to remind myself…who he is, I suppose.”

The sound of distant shouts and laughter echoes from somewhere, the dining hall, and I place a careful, small smile on my face. I hope it’s enough to cover the dark sinking of my spirit as it settles around the floor.

“Come on!” he breaks the quiet. “I’m starved. Maybe you can get me a good table,” he glances around, tapping his nose and winking, “now with your… _inside_ connections?”

I laugh, taking in the dirty dishes and scurrying kitchen maid who darts through the door, only to run back with a tray of plates in hand. And suddenly, I feel like the limp dishrag I toss into the sink.

“Good. I haven’t eaten since last night.”

“Ye need to eat more.” he states bluntly, sliding between two patrol guards eating a meal outside. One of them is a captain, I can tell, and I shift away a little. “You’re nothing but a waif, lass.”

I chuckle a little, reaching for a slice of bread. Once dishes came to mind, I changed out of the silky dress, and I’m glad I did.

“I eat enough. You can blame… _his_ training on whatever way I look.” For some reason, sitting here in the crowded hall, eating the bread and warm soup passed down, I can’t bring myself to say his name.

“Well, I’m not the only one who thinks so! Legolas says he wouldn’t feel so guilty about knocking you over if you weighed more.”

I blink. “What?”

He chuckles and snorts, choking on his food as it goes down. But it’s good-natured, and I know the shock in my eyes isn’t doing anything to contain his chortling. “Don’t be too angry with him, lass.”

“Angry…” I blink. I’m too surprised to be angry. _Mortified…?_ Maybe. But not angry.

“He didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“ _Hurt_ me?” I shake my head, slapping my food down. “What are you talking about?”

“He said you stomped away _furious_ last night for getting knocked over!”

“Oh…” I sigh, “That.”

He drops his voice a little, and as he leans over, the tip of his beard skims the soup in his bowl. I don’t tell him. “Take it easy on him. We’ve fought a lot of real battles lately; he probably forgets practice is practice.”

I shake my head, understanding dawning. “I’m not angry with him for _fighting_ better than me. I just…” I sigh, “…I just get tired of his whole attitude to me, I guess.”

I surprise myself at the words, but I realize it’s true. He’s so focused on finding his spirit, so intent on making things worse for me, that he won’t even let me enjoy what time I have with him. It’s infuriating, now that I think of it, and I stare at Gimli as he nods.

“He’s been so distracted, he can’t see the nose on his own face.” He laughs, shaking his head. “This morning, I walked up to him and startled him. _Startled_ an elf! Me.”

“And do you know what?” I agree, barely able to believe the sudden flare of anger I feel is real, “He never listens! I tell him again and again that what he does is idiocy. But every time I see him, he has some new book or paper he wants me to read him. He talks with me for hours, and do you think I hear _anything_ but the latest myth he’s come up with? No. Ever since I agreed to help him, all he ever thinks about is that…” I splutter, “…that stupid spirit!”

More than a few glances look my way, but I don’t care.

“He just won’t _listen._ He thinks he’s right, and he just doesn’t care what happens.”

“Lass…” Gimli is paused mid-chew, and to my surprise, I find he’s nearly finished eating. _How long have I been ranting?_ “…perhaps you should tell him how you feel.”

I shake my head, dropping my eyes and flushing furiously. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I don’t answer until he finishes, swallowing the last of his meal, and we follow the staggered line to the exit. Most of them are rearming themselves, strapping bows and quivers to their backs, talking, shouting in fluent Sindarin.

“He would…take it the wrong way.”

He slows in the hall, looking up sidelong. “He’d guess the truth, eh?”

I start, looking at him. “What truth?”

He laughs, a kind of amused chuckle, and as we wander slowly down the open corridor, I recognize this place. We move in the direction of the training grounds. “Come now. The elf is oblivious, but not me. Sharp as a-” He pauses, before chuckling again. “…Well never mind that. Not much gets past me.”

I swallow, wondering what exactly he means.

“All he had eyes for were the trees.” The dwarf continues, looking reminiscent, “…the _whole_ way through the Golden Wood, and probably Rivendell, too. You should have seen him in Fangorn! Strange, talking trees, and he thought they were Eru’s personal gift for him!”

He shakes his head, sighing, before snapping back to the present. “Ye saw him there though, in Lothlorien. Am I right?”

I choose my words very, very carefully. I think I see where he’s going. “Yes, I…I saw him there.”

“Mm,” he nods, “And I’ll bet he didn’t happen to notice you there.”

“No.” I drop my head.

“And you’d… _like_ him to notice you?”

I sigh. The dwarf merely wanders to the bright patch of sun, and he lifts his large, calloused hands out like a proposition.

“Take my advice then, lass. I think it would be best for all concerned, if ye would just come out and tell him what you think.” We come out into shaded sunlight, and he shuffles down under a spreading oak. He nods to the grounds and back, pulling a polished wood pipe from his pocket.

“Let me tell you, he’ll never guess it if ye leave it up to him.”

_That’s precisely what I’m counting on_. My heart picks up speed anyway, and it pulses in my throat. I’m not sure how good I am at bluffing. “So? G-guess what?” I look away. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, master dwarf.”

Gimli sighs. “All you elves think you’re so mysterious. I’ve spent some time around you though, believe me, and I see the way you look at him. It’s like the elf walks on water…” He laughs wryly, “I’m surprised ya’ll can’t, really. Queer folk.”

I shake my head, flushing a deep crimson and dropping my eyes. “N-no…I don’t think that.” I whip my chin up. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter! He’s a prince, _the_ prince. I could never…” I stop, trying to say what I mean. “I could never…do that.”

He shrugs, “Might be easier than you think.”

I just shake my head. He doesn’t understand.

The dwarf stays silent a long while, and I stare at something else, a little wary. He just sits there, puffing on his pipe and releasing short gusts of dark smoke into the air. Finally, once the breeze picks up and wafts them away, shivering and dissipating into nothingness, he focuses on me again.

“Well, my advice is tell him anyway. No use pining after something you ain’t willing to fight for.” He winks then, pointing with the stem of his pipe. “And besides, it may be just what he needs to get his mind off this ‘spirit’ thing.”

And now, we have what he’s really thinking. He wants to distract his friend, keep him from wasting his life.

I think about it. I didn’t consider that, I suppose.

My task here could be over and done with so much faster if he had any kind of feelings for me. He might even let me into the king’s vaults, if I asked him, if I told him there was something important there that could help him. _He might even let me have the stone…_ The thought is laughable. I don’t give him enough credit. And Gimli gives me too much.

“No, I couldn’t.” I sigh, fingering stray strands of grass in my fingers. “If it were that easy, any one of these would have done the same.”

I look around, nodding to the flashes of whirling hair as they fight sword on sword, red, black, blonde, all beautiful…especially the blur of blonde named Urendiel. I almost laugh again, remembering his words. Her…clumsy. I snicker.

“I’m not…all that adept at things like that.” I glance down, smiling wryly.

“There is a lot of beauty with the elves.” He admits. His dark eyes take on a wistful expression, and I wonder who he’s thinking of. It makes him phase out a long while, smiling slightly under bushy beard, before he snaps back. “But you know lass, you’re not exactly distasteful to look at yourself. It might just work.”

Deep inside, a small, ridiculous part of me thinks about ripping the bracelet from my skin, throwing it to the ground, losing this form in a flash of light and watching their horrified faces. I wonder what would happen, smiling slightly, what the Others would do to me.

Banish me, probably.

It would almost be worth it, just to show them what I really am. _Why?_ I’m not sure. All I know is it would be very, very satisfying.

“Ah,” Gimli scoffs, unaware of the darkening in my thoughts, “Anyway, it doesn’t matter much. If we don’t find anything, he’ll get tired of looking sooner or later. He’s bound to.”

I just sigh, “Thank you anyway…Gimli. I think that’s best.”

He shrugs. “Your choice, lass.”

We sit awhile in comfortable silence, the dwarf relaxed against the tree and puffing into the warm air. I settle back on my hands, strangely entertained by watching, wondering all the while what it would have been like to be born here. For that matter…what it would be like to be born. I wonder if I would look anything like the form I’ve taken.

_Maybe I’d be human_. The thought is interesting. _Or a dwarf_ …something’s strangely disturbing in that one. I smile a little, lying back in the grass to stare up to the blue-tinted sky.

“Gimli,” I glance up. “Have you ever thought of what it would be like to be born…different?”

He grunts, and despite the pipe between his teeth, I think he was nearly asleep in the warm, still air.

“Different how?”

I shrug, “An elf…maybe?”

He scoffs, almost a chuckle. “I’d not make a good elf, lass.”

I smile slightly, and after a long minute, enjoying the feel of his presence…strangely calming, sturdy, in its own way, I shut my eyes again. “You’re a good friend to him, Gimli.”

He grunts.

“…to be here with me, at least.” I smirk, glancing sidelong. “I know he didn’t ask you to.”

“You’re not so bad, lass.”

_Huh_ …there’s a new thought. Not so bad.

I don’t think he’d say that if he knew what I was here for. I think about saying it… ‘By the way, forgive me for destroying your friend at the first opportunity. I love him with all my heart, but it’s for his own good, you know.’

I think he’d drive his axe through my head. I’d ask him to, if only I thought it would help…

________________________

 

_Dearest Tamling,_

        _I’m not sure if you can read this, but I hope so. Tell me if you can hear me. I pray that you’re well. I use the tablet you gave me, and I hope the king’s enchantments on this place do not interfere._

_I’ve had my first lesson today, I think. I’ve learned never to underestimate the perception of dwarves…when they’re not drunk, at least. He is a loyal friend, Gimli, and I hope that what we do here will not hurt him too terribly._

_\- Your friend_

_By the way, my room is far from the king’s._

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

______________________________________________

 

That night it storms again. It’s not so violent as that black night I arrived, but steady and relentless. Bursts of thunder crack across the sky. Rain streams down my window in winding rivulets, battering and streaking the glass. I can’t sleep. I can’t even stop shaking.

I’m not sure why or how, but as soon as I did, as soon as my mind fell open and vulnerable in unconsciousness, visions and flashes of images that I never knew existed, whipped through my head like the relentless crashing of waves. The stone of Ketedur, blood, long-harbored hatred…elves lying dead…things I’ve never seen before, they dragged me into a bottomless, depthless pit. I couldn’t escape, couldn’t breathe. I was drowning. I screamed and no one came…

 _Is that what dreams are like?_ I shudder. _I never thought so._ I wish I could dream about the light that filters through these trees, or the feel of cool water slipping down my throat. I wish I could dream about Legolas…

Though I don’t know how, I think it’s the Great Spirit’s way of motivating me. I’m not sure either if it’s a warning, a threat, or a vision of what will be if I don’t complete my mission. It doesn’t matter. If I want to avoid getting any more of his ‘messages’, all I have to do is stay awake. I can do that.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, wondering what to tell Tamling. He’s written back, as I find by the strange script printed below mine.

_Dearest,_

_I hope by ‘perception of dwarves’, you don’t mean he’s guessed your identity._

I think about it, listening to the rain. No, I don’t think so.

_Even so, do not underestimate him, just in case. As for hurting him, do not worry little one, dwarves are resilient. A decade will pass, and all we did here will be forgotten._

I half-laugh, and I almost feel like crying again. _Forgotten_? I wonder if that’s true. For Legolas, it certainly is. But Gimli? Will the dwarf forget him, or will he never give up? Will he hunt the beings who destroyed his best friend? I certainly would. Or will he stay…try to be there for him? I don’t know. Thinking about it makes my chest feel hollow, so I don’t.

_Keep your eyes on the sea, little one. We’ll all be home before you know it._

_\- Tamling_

I sigh. _Home._ What is home? Is it where your body is? Where your heart is? Where your heart wants your body to be, or the other way around? I don’t know, anymore. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right.

Suddenly, a quiet, gentle knock on the door jars me from my thoughts. I snap my head up, hurriedly hiding the book and wiping my eyes, sniffing away the last vestiges of the dream and Tamling’s words. Not a single lamp lights the room, only the long beam of white light from the window. Shadows of raindrops spatter the floor, the scraping of branches along the shaggy carpet under my bed waving back and forth in the wind.

Warily, I pad to the door. It’s been dark for hours. I crack the door open and look up…and there stands a tall, lean silhouette.

“Um…yes?” Even in the dark, I make out a wary, almost shy smile on the prince’s face. A shiver runs down my spine, and this time not from the cold. I quickly turn away, scrubbing my eyes and forcing my head to clear. He can’t see me like this. He would see the guilt all over my face.

“I was wondering if you would like that sparring lesson, after all?”

I blink, “Now?”

Legolas smiles again, just a little quirk tugging at his mouth. His eyes dart to anywhere but my face though, and I realize he shifts from boot to boot. Long, blonde hair spills down his shoulders, and the blades strapped to his back gleam in the faint light, “Why not?”

“I-I don’t think so.” I whisper hurriedly.

He’s quiet a moment. I stare breathless, but he just looks at the floor. I see the shadow of forehead on his face; his squared shoulders sink a little…a minute sigh. And finally, he shifts back a step and straightens. “Very well.”

With that, he turns and starts down the hall.

“Wait!” I hiss, snatching a shawl from the floor and chasing a few steps after him.

He glances back. A small, irrational part of me feels touched that he didn’t ask to translate ancient script. He didn’t ask me to read Larion’s journal… No, he offered to help. I hope Gimli didn’t tell him what I said at lunch. It was unfair of me.

So I freeze before him, and looking up, all I can think of is the long shadows we throw down the hall as he hesitates, the hair’s breadth from feeling his breath on my face. I feel the the faint stir of his restless shifting, the creak of leather, even the running patter of rain battering the ceiling. I run and stumble through my head for a reason.

“D-don’t you want to come in?” I whisper, peering up at him. The offer was more than that. He wants to make recompense. He thinks I’m still angry.

Legolas blinks, “Of course not.”

“Oh.” I suddenly realize that would look strange. Why can’t I remember that he’s the prince? He has his duties. I’m not one of them… I look down, fidgeting with the threaded tassels clutched around my shoulders, and I shift back into the protective shadow of my door.

“I’m sorry. I-it’s just that it’s raining and…” I trail off. _And I might crack into pieces if I spend time with you tonight._

He starts a little. “Oh. Is that it?”

“Well, yes.” I blurt, “…obviously.”

“You still wish to train with me, then.” Legolas smiles easier. “Then if that is all, I may…know a place to help that.”

I tilt my head, curious despite myself, and with only the faint glow of his eyes, I can’t read his expression more than that.

 _Well, why not?_ My hands feel far better with the day of rest. I can get through another session if it means fending off sleep a little while longer. I’m too miserable to trust myself alone anyway. I could fall asleep again. _The Spirit’s visions could come back_ …I shudder.

“Let me get dressed.”

He glances to the thin, silky shift I wear. “You are dressed.”

My only response is to close the door. I’d swear I hear a chuckle from the other side, but a roll of thunder fills the room and I can’t be sure.

I look around, searching for something to wear. I don’t know how things like that affect him, how I look, what I’m wearing, but I know the Great Spirit would approve of the dark, v-neck top I cinch up the back, tying it off. And suddenly, Gimli’s words come back again.

 _Fight for him_.

Tell him how I feel, the truth. Tell him everything... Tell him what I am, why I’m here, how long I’ve waited for him…how I have to destroy him. I don’t exactly think the dwarf knew what he was saying. _Rebellion_. Earthlings would call it treason. It would mean the first blatant disobedience to the Elders since…well, since I can remember.

I stumble putting on my boots, dispelling the dangerous thoughts. I do pull a few laces out of my neckline though, letting it ride lower on my chest. I suppose it couldn’t hurt much…could it?

I look at myself in the darkness of the mirror…and I tie it up again.

“Where are we going?” I ask, coming out. Legolas leans against the doorframe, hands loose at his sides.

“You will see.” He beckons, smiling slightly, and a thrill of anticipation shivers down my spine.

Something about wandering dark halls and barely lit corridors makes me feel like a rebel. It’s mostly deserted here. The rooms waiting for the Lorien elves are empty, but it soon changes. To my mild surprise, he strides right through the heavier populated halls and snapping lantern light, chin up and back straight. I glance between the questioning eyes of passing elves and his gaze. He acts like they’re not even there.

“Is there a reason why you’re taking the most populated halls in the fortress?”

He spares a glance. “Yes.”

I blink, “Really?”

We pass three fair, pale elves murmuring together in Sindarin, and he drops into accented Westron. “Believe it or no, the rumors have spread like wildfire since my return.”

I walk closer, taking quick steps to keep up. He always walks like this when he’s distracted. “Like what?”

Legolas tilts his head away, an amused smile darting at his mouth. I can’t look away. It doesn’t reach his eyes though, and I wonder if they disturb him more than he lets on. “They say I’ve contracted an illness or a poison on my travels. Treatment keeps me away for long periods of time.”

I grin half-heartedly. “Sick… _You_?” I’ve never seen him sick a day in my life.

“Indeed. I feel I should warn you though.” Legolas glances over. “Some wonder if I brought you with me from Lothlorien, and we are…” he trails off. “Well, we are…coupling. They’re wondering what strange Lorien customs you pollute me with.”

I swallow, dropping my eyes. I may be transparent to a dwarf, but obviously not to him. He must take it the wrong way, because he quickly adds.

“…I am sorry. Believe me when I say it, I’ve done my best to dispel the rumors.”

I shake my head. “I-it’s all right. I know.”

“Do not worry,” he assures me. “They’ll not last long.”

I smile a little sickly. Some of them wonder if there are wedding flowers in their prince’s future. I heard them talking. “Don’t worry. I know.”

All it would take is eyes to look at us and know we’re not the same. We’re not a match, a perfect pair. He doesn’t feel anything for me. _And how could he?_ I’m nothing but a liar, impersonating someone who doesn’t exist. I shouldn’t even hold onto these ridiculous feelings…only because I’m a fool, I know I’ll never go back to the way I was.

I remember the solitude, the wretched aloneness, never feeling anything but the vastness of time and space…empty. I shudder and pull closer to Legolas. He glances down, the back of my hand brushing his with every stride, but he doesn’t say anything.

 _Good_. Silence is better than rejection.

We come out into an area of the stronghold I’ve never seen before. It takes many twists and turns, ducking down side halls and deserted corridors. We pass sentries at a gate, and we emerge into a great archway leading out to the rain. It pours from the mouth in sheets, and cool gusts of wind blows it into my face. The smell of moist wood and wet leaves fills the air.

“Follow me and run,” he glances back, “…the faster the dryer!”

I almost groan, but not quite.

He breaks into a sprint and I follow, wincing against the frigid onslaught as we burst out into the cold, following his shadow as he darts down a narrow, winding trail. I can’t see more than flashes of passing trunks and cracks of thunder, but we break through some kind of dark, stone doorway and the rain clears.

“W-where are we?” I blink, shaking my wet hair and peering around. Legolas looks back, panting out a grin, and water streams from his hair into his shining eyes. He shakes his head vigorously.

“A place I go when I want to be alone.”

The darkness takes a minute to adjust to. I squint, looking around.

A great cracked ceiling, partially broken away blocks some of the sky. Petal-laden vines lace the stone, like webs hanging from the net. Only a few rocky columns support the ruins. Twisting trunks climb through the stone, leaves fluttering to the ground in the semi-darkness, and even young saplings push through the earth and into what used to be a great chamber. Or a sanctuary maybe, I’m not sure. There’s little left now but roof, broken columns, and forest.

“It’s…” I whisper, stepping slowly over the leafed floor. “…it’s beautiful.”

He’s pleased; I’m not sure why, but I mean it. “Come, let’s get started!”

The rain streams through gaps in the ceiling and what used to be walls—now open to the elements-- but large gaps woven through the ruins stay dry. He strides into the light of the moon as it breaks from a gap in the clouds, before unsheathing the blades on his back. They flash and shine in the dark.

“Where are the sticks?” I look around, wondering if he plans to chop down one of the saplings.

Legolas smiles, shaking his head, “We are done with staffs. It is time you move on.”

“To _that_?” I swallow, eyeing the blade he holds out to me. “…What if I kill you with it?”

He tilts his head. “Do you not trust me?”

“Maybe not to let me kill _myself,_ but…” I trail off.

“Elleth,” he sighs. “I have fought in battles across Arda. I believe I can handle a single blade from a single, untrained girl.”

I’m not sure if I like the sound of ‘girl’, but there’s not so much I can do about that. So I reluctantly accept the hilt of the blade, feeling the way the cool, white wood fits in my palm. It’s surprisingly light, much easier than I thought it would be, and it balances itself in my hands.

“All right, block me.”

We fight for…I’m not sure how long. I don’t think I like the other end being razor-sharp, but the blade feels natural, light, like an extension of my arm. Thunder cracks outside and rain streams from arches supporting the ceiling, and he steps up the game by leaping atop boulders. He dives low and swings at my knees, back-stepping along a narrow, rotten log without a glance. His feet are a blur.

“Better!” He shouts suddenly, leaping off, before swinging faster and harder. “Don’t think. _Move_. Feel at one with the blade.”

“Or I’ll _be_ one with it.” I shoot back, and until the moon rises high in the dark, rolling clouds, we spar relentlessly.

I’m exhausted and panting, missing moves and growing sluggish a few hours later, and he breaks off finally, stepping back. I gasp aloud in relief. My hands burn alive. Agony laps at them like fire, and I squeeze them into fists, dropping to the ground. I pant for air. A cold sweat breaks on my forehead, but he just stands there, alive and grinning.

“You’ve shown vast improvement tonight.” He stalks over, coming down beside.

“Oh yes. For once, I came closer to killing _you_ than me.”

“Quite.” He agrees, leaning back on the fallen, stone column. I frown, grimacing and gripping my hands. But he doesn’t notice. “I think it is time you move on.”

I rub the back of my hands in the shadow of my lap, and I blink. _Move on…_ again?

Legolas shifts, sitting to face me, and the high thrum of rain fills the background. “I am leaving tomorrow with my company.” He says quietly. “We go to meet the Lorien elves at the borders. Gimli is joining us.”

 _He’s leaving._ I let that sink in. I’ve barely been here a week, and already, he’s leaving me!

“Oh.” My breath catches in my throat, and I force my eyes to the ground. My heart beats in my ears, panic I think. It’s too soon. I didn’t have enough _time_. He doesn’t trust me yet.

“Elleth…” Legolas dips his head to look at my face, and I keep my eyes down. The pain in my fingers subsides a little. “…I think you should come with us.”

“Me?” I whisper.

He nods, shrugging his shoulders and leaning back. “You will be well guarded in the slim chance of an attack. _And,_ you will have the chance to practice your skills. You’ll not have trouble finding Eldar willing to spar with you.” He pauses a moment, looking over and watching me, before saying softer. “Perhaps you’ll even find a friend.”

I start a little, before biting the inside of my lip to keep quiet. So, even being my friend is too much to ask.

“Andaer, a captain in the guard, spoke of you. It is known well that I’m giving you lessons. He said perhaps he could train you.”

Oh…so that’s it. _He’s trying to get rid of me?_ He wants to pass me off to someone else?

“He felt badly for speaking harshly to you the night you arrived. He did not mean it.” He explains. “Do you remember?”

“I… remember.”

And suddenly, I’m very cold. I feel the dampness in my clothes and I shiver. The night is wet; my hands are icy.

“Elleth, what is wrong?”

I blink, clamping my fingers together, “N-nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

He lowers his head. “Are you cold?”

I shake my head again. “Oh, no. Don’t worry! I understand.”

“Understand…”

I flash my eyes up to his, before quickly dropping them again. He’s quiet, staring at me in silence, before narrowing his eyes. “Understand what?”

I take in a sharp breath, determined to keep angry tears from gathering. My voice cracks. “I…I’ll ask someone else to teach me h-how to fight.”

Maybe when I can fight at his back, actually help him instead of burdening him. Maybe then he’ll trust me. I almost laugh. _And then what?_ Take his mind so he can forget centuries of his life? That will really help him. He’d curse the day I ever saw him, if he only knew.

“You…will receive lessons from someone else?” He says slowly.

“I told you I will!”

“Well, what?” he asks suddenly, after a long moment passes, and I look up at his voice. His back is straight, eyes sharp, flinty. It surprises me into silence. “Do you think anyone else will be easier on you? You think you will learn _quicker_ with someone else?”

“What?”

He exhales hard and leaps to his feet, before shaking his head and stalking away. “Come on. It is time you went to bed.”

I don’t move. My mind goes blank, and for a rapid instant, I don’t know what I’m thinking. I just narrow my eyes. He pauses…and a low peel of thunder ripples through the ruins like tension, a throaty hum.

“Well?” he spins around.

“Well _what_?” I look up angrily. My hands hurt worse than ever, and a flare of hot fury makes me want to tell him what I think of him and his disloyalty. The least he could do is pretend to tolerate me! But does he? No. He tries to toss me off on someone else the first chance he gets.

“Are you coming?” he snaps impatiently.

“No.” I lift my knees to my chest and turn away, hiding my hands in my lap.

“Well I am not leaving you here outside the fortress.”

“I’m not going with you!” I hiss into my knees. “Go away.”

He almost groans. It comes out oddly distorted with the rain streaming from the ceiling, and he comes back, walking heavier than normal. I think he’s angry.

“That is fine with me, _elleth_. I will leave you and your strangeness alone as _soon_ as we get back to the stronghold. You needn’t worry about that. But my father’s orders are clear. No lone elf will be outside the gates after dark, until the forest is cleared. You will obey him.”

“Do this. Do that. _Follow_ me. Train with him.” I look up, glaring fiercely. “All you ever do is tell me what to do!”

His eyes narrow. “And that is why you no longer wish to train with me?”

The breath leaves my chest and I gasp. “ _Me?_ You’re the one passing me off to An…” I grimace. “… _And_ -something!”

Legolas’ face contorts into an expression of disbelief, and he shakes his head, aghast. “What-”

“You’re passing me off after a week.” I glare at him, miserable tears threatening to spill over, and he stares at them in shock. “A week! That’s it. I could get better. I _could._ Y-you’re just so impatient and-and-and _absent_ -minded, you just can’t see that not everyone’s like you! Not everyone’s perfect. You didn’t even give me a chance!”

“I…I didn’t-” And then he stops. He looks at nothingness, frozen, hand still in the air…and it slowly drops. “…I see.”

I drop my eyes, shivering again.

“You thought I meant to be rid of you.”

I laugh, full of scorn, and my voice cracks pathetically. “Well, that’s not a hard assumption to make. I know when I’m not wanted!”

He blinks.

“I’m not stupid, you know.” I turn away, fighting down a sob.  

And then…he laughs. It starts out like a barely restrained chortle in his throat. Even as the rain falls in torrents and lightning sparks outside, he chuckles harder. He’s doubled over in another minute, and before my eyes, he laughs harder than I’ve ever heard before.

“What’s so funny?!” I snap.

“You…” he gasps, wiping his eyes, and he half points at me. “… _You_ are funny.”

I wish I could stop them, I try, but I can’t. My chin trembles violently and tears sear my eyes. I hide my face in my knees, refusing to cry. He can’t just get rid of me. He can’t just tell me he feels uncomfortable around me. He can’t even tell me that he thinks I should move on. No, that’s not enough. He laughs at me!

“I,” Legolas drops down in front of me, trying to contain himself, and he lifts both his hands. “…I will try and explain to you.”

I don’t look, but suddenly, he reaches up and clasps both my knees, shaking me loose. I snap my head up, and through tear-streaked eyes, I realize his gaze is warm…like his hands.

“You are a mystery to every elf here, elleth.” He says, “Do you not see? I have been hording you for myself. I did not mean that I would ‘pass you off’ on Andaer. I simply meant to share you.”

“H-hording?” I whisper, grimacing in confusion.

“Gimli spoke to me, and I know I’ve let myself become a small measure… obsessed...with these happenings. Do not mishear me. I still vow to find the spirit who came to me, but understand this: I will not monopolize you any longer. For that, I am sorry.”

I shake my head. “I want to be monopolized!”

He sighs. “Captain Andaer tells me that he would very much like to meet you; he is not the only one. The elleth are curious, and there are ellon who are not happy with the way I’ve kept you hidden away. You barely know anyone here. After all, this will be your home for a time. Now your people arrive, and you are as much a stranger as they.”

“I…” I don’t know what to say. “I don’t understand. You…you _don’t_ want to get rid of me?”

He almost laughs again, letting his hands slip from my knees. “Why would you think that?”

I stare at him in disbelief, and slowly, shivering, I feel the warmth of his body cling to the air. Only my knees bar him from me, and for a while, only the rain breaks the night air. “…I don’t know.” I look down, trembling violently, and I run through all the reasons he should hate me. How I’ve lied to him constantly, how I’m not real, how much I love him and I can’t tell. I can’t say the truth. I can never say what I want to, never what I really feel.

And I crack. “…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I-I-…”

“Don’t apologize.” He says quietly.

I bury my face in my knees, wondering if he can feel how hard I want to reach out and hold onto him. Can he feel the way my heart pulses in my neck? How I’m frozen here, desperately afraid of moving? If I do, even so much as a breath, this moment could shatter and I’ll have to face what I came here for.

A tear threatens to fall and I slap it away, sitting in darkness. Nothing stirs, nothing moves, and he stares at me in sudden confusion. I don’t know when my anger sapped away, but now, there’s nothing left but a small, empty hole.

“What is wrong?” he leans closer, and I press myself against the fallen stone as hard as possible, grinding it into my back to focus on the pain. It keeps the tears from falling.

I look away.

“Elleth,” he says softly, “when I came tonight…you had been crying. Tell me what is wrong.”

I don’t answer, but my chin trembles and I cover my mouth.

“Do you miss your family?”

A sick, twisted part of me almost laughs at that, but I just shake my head. I can feel the discomfort in the very air he breathes, how he leans closer, then pulls back, thinking…wondering what to do. He wonders if it’s his place to comfort me. And then, he sits straighter.

“Come. It is time you went to sleep.”

“No.” I answer quickly, sniffing and hitting the tears from my eyes. “I…I don’t want to sleep.”

Legolas blinks. “Elleth-”

“No.”

“But _why_?” His eyes sweep me up in a single glance. “You are tired; don’t hide it. I can feel your exhaustion from here.”

“I can’t sleep!” I whisper adamantly, and maybe he’ll understand that. I don’t know what he dreams of, but I know sometimes, they’ll come. He dreams of things less than beautiful, things he shouldn’t have to see. Because he’ll wake up with a start. He’ll look around and his heart races, and only after the night grows still again, peaceful and quiet, will he rest back, unsettled.

“I…I can’t.”

“Why?” he asks slowly, before shifting down to sit again. “Do the strange surroundings bother you?”

I sigh, dropping my eyes. How do you describe a Spirit of almost infinite power stabbing through the realms of time and space to reach you? The sick, panicky feeling of knowing you must do the unthinkable, knowing you can’t fight it… And he tells me to sleep, to _welcome_ it?

“I…have nightmares.” I whisper. It’s the closest thing I can think of.

A long moment passes. “Oh.”

We sit like that for…I’m not sure how long, listening to the rain pattering the forest floor. Distant thunder cracks across the sky, and though it rains still, the storm is moving on. The wind whisks through damp and cold here, unsheltered in the forest. I don’t even realize how hard I shiver…until warmth drops around my shoulders and I feel him rest his palm on my head.

“You cannot simply refuse to sleep.” Legolas murmurs. I don’t look, but as he leans closer, looking at me, I feel the brush of warm air from his lips. His fingers touch my hair, urging me to meet his eyes, and I reluctantly do so. His cloak is warm and thick, filled with his scent…like pines and leather, smoke, fresh rain.

“It does not work well.” He smiles gently. “Trust me.”

I swallow. “Y-you have dreams…?” I whisper faintly.

He doesn’t answer a moment, hesitating, before his fingers slip from my hair. His cloak envelops my shoulders still, but I miss the warmth of his hand.

“Yes…occasionally.”

“What do you do?” I know it can’t possibly help in my case, but anything’s worth a try.

“I…endure them.” He says slowly.

I want to ask him what he dreams about. I want to know what troubles his mind, his beautiful eyes. But I can’t. He would think I’m prying…He doesn’t understand how I love him so. He doesn’t realize the nights I’ve spent wishing for a body, a mortal body. Anything just to be with him like this. _I should be happier._ It’s what I’ve always wanted…but not quite. I wish I’d never met him, rather than cause him this pain. It’s a sick twist of fate that I can’t.

“Come.” Legolas says briskly, snapping out of the silence he’s fallen into, before getting up. He extends a hand, and even though I don’t want to move, don’t even want to think about it, I slip my fingers into his.

He pulls me to my feet.

“We will read Larion’s journal then. I have found another. I am not sure what it says. Most of the text is in the Faerie’s tongue. You may help me. I would ask Gimli to come, but when I went to his door, the dwarf’s sleep was louder than thunder.”

So here we are again, at the very beginning. I drop my eyes, suddenly feeling like sinking. _Translating…helping him find his Faerie…_ I want to cry.

“Elleth,” he sighs softly, and suddenly, a single touch of his skin drags me out of the bottomless, black pit I fall in. His palm cups my face, and he lifts my chin. Just once, his thumb strokes the corner of my lips, and I know the expression in his eyes. He pities me.

“It will keep you awake.”

And for the second time that evening, I feel an almost guilty gratitude. This elf is selfless…beautiful and selfless. No wonder I love him. No wonder the fate of an entire race could be decided on him.

Maybe we’re not at the very beginning.

 

*********************************

 

“…and my young sister has crawled her first steps this morning! I have not seen the Spirit today, but he’s promised to come. I anxiously await His arrival.”

There, the words stopped. Legolas cracked his eyes open at the pause.

The prince lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. His boots propped comfortably on the bench, sheltered in an open porch, rain streaming from the eaves. The Lorien elf sat above his head, reading the rest of the journal he’d found in the library.

“What is it?” he glanced up, peering at her upside down.

Legolas only needed the girl for passages in the strange spirit tongue. The journals never seemed to provide a key to decipher them. But it was easier this way. He could listen and at the same time, hover near the fringe edges of sleep. There was something soothing in the girl’s voice.

He slit his eyes closed, listening, absorbing, searching for a clue as to where he could look for his lost Faerie. It softened and quieted when she spoke Larion’s words though, and it reminded him of times when another quiet voice would read to him…years past as an elfling.

“There is only one page left.” She answered, glancing to his upturned face. “’Tis an entry Larion gave in the spirit tongue. It says that in a few final words, He promised to show the man something beautiful, something of great power.”

Legolas blinked. “What was it?”

“I…” she hesitated, and he wondered what darted through her troubled eyes. “…I don’t know.”

He shifted onto one arm, looking at the book for himself. It was in the unreadable script. “You said you know all there is to know about the Faerie. Yet you know nothing of what he could mean?”

She looked away. “I said I know more than what your _books_ could tell you…That’s not all of what there is to know. No one, not even the Faerie, know that.”

“Then why have you told me nothing more than my books have?” Legolas squinted, wanting to know. He shifted, half-sitting up on his side. “You tell me your father spent his lifetime studying them. And yet when I ask you to tell me, all you give is what this ‘Larion the scribe’ does.”

She dropped her eyes. “You know how I feel.”

He nodded, rolling his eyes heavenward. “You think I shouldn’t look for her.”

The girl didn’t reply, and even if she was going to, light footsteps broke the quiet and he sighed. A messenger, clad in the green of Mirkwood strode down the dim, moonlit hall.

“Greetings, my prince.” He came to a halt. He eyed Legolas’ lethargic position a little strangely, stretched out on a bench and propped on one arm, but he didn’t say anything.

Legolas looked up a little impatient. “Yes, what is it?”

He was tired and he hadn’t learned anything new tonight.

“Your father sent me to confirm your presence with the company leaving tomorrow.” The elf skittled odd glances at the girl sitting there, head down, but Legolas ignored it.

“Yes, I am going.” He glanced to the woman. “You may tell him I am bringing a guest.”

“The dwarf?” he squinted. “He knows already.”

“Gimli and…”

He paused, wondering when he was going to have a name for this little elleth. It was growing increasingly frustrating to think of her as ‘the girl, the strange Lorien elf.’ Legolas sighed, vowing to think of a name for her soon, before the week was out. He muttered so under his breath.

“…and the elleth.” He finished to the messenger.

The elf nodded. “As you wish, my lord.”

With that, he disappeared in night darkness.

They sat awhile in silence, rain streaming from the open archways supporting the ceiling. It was quiet, peaceful.

“M-my lord…?”

Legolas started, glancing up. She stood up slowly, his cloak falling to the bench, and he wondered why her shoulders were suddenly so stiff…nervous.

“I swear,” he sighed. “If you call me that again, I will confine you to your room and place a constant guard at your door until you learn it well.”

“Your highness?”

He frowned. The girl was quiet a moment, hesitant.

“Legolas…” she said softly.

For some reason, the sound of his name on her lips was strange. It was soft, gentle…almost a caress, and again, the unwanted image of his mother flashed through his head. This wasn’t quite the same, but it was unnerving, to say the least. The simple word asked a thousand things that he couldn’t answer.

“You’re taking me with you tomorrow?”

He nodded. “Do you not wish to go?”

The elleth shook her head. “No, I was just wondering if…we were leaving the boundaries.”

It was a strange question, but a fair one. “No, we meet them at the borders. We will not leave them.”

An audible sigh of relief escaped her mouth, and she rubbed at a silver bracelet tangled around her wrist. He wondered if it was a present, from a family member perhaps. She was so nervous, he could almost see a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

“You don’t wish to leave?”

“Well…” she stuttered then, and her breathing came fast. “I-it’s just that I arrived only a week ago, and-and I don’t want to go yet. I’ve barely seen anything here. And I-”

“-It is all right!” Legolas laughed, holding up a hand. “It is all right. We are not leaving. You needn’t worry.”

 _Sweet Eru_ … she was excitable!

“Good.” The woman breathed, rubbing her arms, before coming down and sitting next to him again.

A long minute passed, feeling his smile fade, before he asked more seriously. “Tell me elleth, why would a spirit come to Earth? Even if you don’t believe me, you cannot deny these journals. Why would a Spirit touch Larion’s life? He was a scribe, a mortal man.”

The girl’s shoulders sunk.

Legolas looked up, searching her face for any hidden answers kept there. But it was blank, empty. “Why? Why would He even bother? You insist that the Faerie are not interested in earth’s affairs.”

Slowly, the girl breathed a sigh. “It…was not always so. I don’t know much about it; please don’t ask me. But I know that affairs of men and elves were once the affairs of the Faerie. Sometimes, they did not get along. Sometimes, there was a clash of wills. Weak, mortal men fell prey to the Spirits’ desire for power, and the elves sought to protect them from being used.

These spirits, a few, became the Elders. They were very powerful, and they loved their power with a passion. S-some of the Spirits grew to hate the elves for shielding men. They attacked them, and Thranduil, without a ring of power, was the easiest prey to their revenge. Thranduil, or at least I am told, hated the Faerie for this, because he never really protected men. It was just to cause the others pain. Things just escalated from there, revenge upon revenge.”

“My father?” Legolas glanced away and back, confused. “They hate my father?”

“I…don’t know.” She whispered.

“Then why was He different? Why was the woman who visited me…different? Why did they seek out ‘earthlings’, as you call them?”

Legolas shifted into a sitting position, watching her look down. A crease furrowed her brows together, and he realized she was distressed. Slowly, she turned the pages of Larion’s journal. He watched her touch them, scan the words, trace them with her fingers, and her breathing quickened. She didn’t answer, and after a long while, when the air grew still and silent, she whispered.

“Perhaps this will help.” She wouldn’t look at him. “…the rest of the last page. He said why he told the man these things.”

She looked down. In the darkness, in the seclusion of that balcony, the rain drumming its quiet song on the stone, Legolas stared. There was something deep, unfathomable in her eyes. She looked at the page, but her gaze drifted. He wondered if she’d seen them before…

“Imagine…a thousand years of watching the sun rise and fall.” She whispered, “Imagine a millennium of feeling the tides of change course through every living thing, time. But time means nothing to you. Because you’re not alive…because you don’t live. You just _are._ You watch others live. You feel others’ pain, but never yours.”

She looked up, glancing to the book only once. “Imagine a lifetime, no, an…eternity…with nothing.” She continued. “Imagine a world of void, emptiness. Watching the world is like a window, a threshold impossible to cross. You are different. Sometimes the souls who wander the earth know you are there, sometimes they don’t. But always, you are feared, or hated, or wondered at...never loved.”

She looked up, met his eyes. “And then, it changes. Everything changes. Imagine a breath of air, a gust of cool wind. Imagine feeling the life of something beautiful, something more than you ever could be. Because he’s _real,_ he’s alive. You can touch him, feel him. That was…” she stopped, breathing more quickly, and he stared with bated breath. She wanted to say something; she wanted to tell him something! But she stopped. Her eyes dropped. “…that was Larion.”

“Sweet Eru…” he whispered. Not even a small part of him could believe she read that from a century-old book. She was trembling under his very eyes, shivering, and he couldn’t think of how to comfort her. She was upset. He could feel it, and even though the pendant burned warmly on his chest as it always did around her, he focused. He kept his voice gentle and even.

“You told me your father spent his life searching for the Faerie…?”

She closed her eyes.

“But there is more, isn’t there?” It was more statement than question. “Did he love one?”

She turned away.

“Was your mother a spirit?” he just asked instead of letting it linger in the back of his mind, eat and gnaw at him until it drove him mad. He had to know.

Slowly, her head dropped. “No.”

He blinked. _No?_ Was she lying to him? _Could he be wrong?_ Of course he was. It wasn’t even possible to impregnate a spirit. So, what did that leave? Could she really know all this from her father’s teachings? He just didn’t know anymore.

“Elleth…” Legolas said slowly. He wasn’t sure if he should ask it, and he wasn’t sure if she would answer. She stared at her closed fists. “Would you ever lie to me?”

There was a long pause.

“Yes.” She whispered. It shook once; she held her breath. But then it changed. She looked up and forced a grin out, holding her hands out, palms up. “See? I don’t hate your training. I just hate pain.”

Legolas’ eyes widened. “Your…hands!” he shook his head, grasping her wrists. They were raw and bleeding; he could see where it dried to her palms. “Why in Eru’s name didn’t you _tell_ me?”

She shrugged and kept her eyes down. He stared at her, aghast. And here he had thought she was preoccupied, wasn’t dedicated to learning the art of the blade. He thought she hadn’t liked him, or disliked his method of teaching. All thoughts of the Faerie vanished into vapor.

“Come on.” Legolas shook his head, grabbing her wrist again. He took full charge. He was the one who gave her the injuries, and he would take care of them.

“Wait-” She gasped, but he pulled her on, stalking down the moonlit corridor. He went straight to the Healing Halls.

Legolas knew what to look for. It was not uncommon for beginners, children mostly, to experience such problems. He found salve for the pain, gauze to accelerate the elf’s rapid healing process. In a day, she wouldn’t feel them.

She stood behind him as he dug through the cupboards. Small windows placed in the walls were streaked in black, falling rain, claps of quiet thunder rumbling outside. Only a few elves threw glances his way, but one look at her clenched fists, and they left the prince alone. All but one did.

“Can I help, my lord?”

Legolas glanced over. A friend’s eyes rewarded him, warm and smiling. “Captain Falaviel…”

Her dark, raven hair spilled in long tresses down her back, let loose and damp from the rain. She was the guard in charge of the patrol he and Gimli joined when they returned to the king’s palace, and when they’d found the girl huddling in the rain. He was glad to see her then, with Captain Andaer, and he smiled half-heartedly.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

Legolas sighed, gesturing a hand to the girl. She shrank back from him, but he felt the stiffening in her shoulders, eyeing the captain from under a fringe of hair. Tension sprang to life.

“We’ve been sparring, training for the departure tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes.” She smiled. “I volunteered to join myself. You come with us, my prince?” Her eyes, framed in black lashes, blinked in utter surprise.

He nodded. “Yes, and it seems my friend enjoys dealing with pain _alone_.” Legolas shot a dark glance in the elleth’s direction, but when she dropped her head more, looking ashamed and a little angry, perhaps, he smiled. “Brave…but unnecessary.”

“I’m sure.” Falaviel glanced between them then, bow in hand, before flicking her dark hair briskly. “May I be of service, then? Anything at all?”

“No. Thank you anyway, Elesia.” Legolas glanced to the exit. “We leave at dawn. Perhaps you should rest…We need you in fine form.”

She bowed. “As you say, my lord.” The captain turned then, and with a brief smile, left with a graceful sway of her hips despite the blood-stained knives stuck in her belt.

When Legolas turned back, to his surprise, he found the girl frowning at the exit. “What is it?” he asked.

“She thinks you’re beautiful.” She growled.

“What-” Legolas blinked, appalled. He whipped his head around, checking to be sure that no one was within earshot. “… _what?_ ”

“Never mind.” She muttered, dropping her eyes, and Legolas shook his head.

He grabbed her waist between his hands, and with only a slight bump, set her on the countertop.

“I _suggest_ you do not say that again.” He lifted a finger, surreptitiously pointing at her, before beginning to gently dab away the excess, dried blood from her palms. “We trained together, that is all. She is a captain. I am her commander. We are good friends.”

She stared at him a little darkly. “I’m not stupid.”

“But highly imaginative!” he snapped, whispering. She just glowered at him, and he met it head on. After a tense minute though, he sighed, shaking his head. The terrible urge to smile sprang to life. Her glare was furious and harmless, like a kitten growl.

“Well, how bad is it…” she muttered, looking at her hands.

He glanced to her eyes, wiping a cotton swab along the deeper sores. She winced once. “Well, they are not as bad as mine were, the first time I held a blade.” He conceded, nearly smiling at the memory. “My trainer suggested I wear leather gloves to condition my hands. I of course, refused. After all, only elflings wear gloves.”

She smiled, “Legolas…an elfling.”

He smirked. “Yes, and my father said that I would learn my lesson better if I experienced it.” Legolas stared pointedly at her, before lifting a single finger to touch the tip of her nose. “Pride is not necessarily bravado, kitten.”

She smiled slightly, a small but genuine smile that tugged at her mouth in the queerest of ways. She looked at him with glittering eyes, like there was nowhere else in all of Arda that she’d rather be... Legolas shook his head, focusing and swiping a light coating of salve along the lines of her palm, using just his fingertips.

As he worked, the pause shifted after a few quiet minutes.

“You love your father very much,” She said softly, “don’t you…Legolas?”

He threw an odd glance. “Of course.” Legolas sighed then, wrapping her hands in a light gauze. “We disagree occasionally…Well, most of the time, but of course I do. And I never doubt his affection for me. That is never in question.”

The girl was silent a long while. Finally, she nodded slowly.

“ _Now_ do you wish to go to bed?” he asked briskly, leaning towards her a little suspiciously.

She snapped her head up. “No! Please…please, no.”

Legolas sighed. “Elleth, I am tired. I am sure you are, too. Do you not think it’s worth a try?”

She was shaking, he could feel it in her fingers. Her eyes stared at him, pleaded with him wordlessly, and he realized she was terrified. _What could bother her so?_ He knew what troubled him some nights, but he was never afraid to sleep. They were memory, some sweet, some sad…but nothing to be pushed down or forgotten. His past was his. He embraced it.

“Elleth, you cannot simply stay awake forever. Even Eldar need rest.”

“I…I know. Just please don’t make me now. I don’t want to. I-I…”

“-All right.” he sighed, gently helping her down. “Perhaps awhile of the alternative will convince you.”

She nodded gratefully, clenching her fists around the bandage. And without another glance to the curious eyes following them, they left the Healing Halls.

Legolas wandered a little while, never straying far from his way to the porch. When the night was late, midnight perhaps, they sat back on the bench where she read to him. Not many words shed between the two, but amazingly, the stress and upsetting happenings of late didn’t bother him now.

The elleth sat, collapsed tiredly beside him, Legolas idly stroking the warm pendant on his neck. They listened to the rainfall, how it let up to a distant drizzle, and then fell back to a showering patter streaming from the eaves.

And suddenly, Legolas glanced down, startled.

A copper-brown head rested against his shoulder, and he froze. She rested on him completely. The whir of rain thrummed on the roof, but only then, with a warm tingle in his chest as the pendant’s heat dimmed, he realized she was asleep and snoring gently. Her breathing caught in her throat with every rise and fall of her lax, limp body, and he sighed, letting her rest on him for a while.

When the moon began its downward descent and his energy waned, very slowly, very carefully, Legolas slid an arm behind her knees and the other behind her neck. He picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and she didn’t shift, not a breath or a whisper. The girl’s head turned a little though, against his heartbeat, and her breathing came easier there.

“Strange elleth…” he whispered, watching her sleep.

He moved down the stair like liquid shadow, careful to support her neck and shoulders, and not a single step jarred her awake. She curled against him like a new babe. Legolas was utterly silent, utterly smooth. _He would get her to her room,_ place her in bed still sound asleep, and no one would be the wiser. He would walk back to his room and get a good night’s rest and then-

Suddenly, Legolas froze.

“Father.” He spoke in surprise.

A strange moment passed, and he stared at the elf as he appeared from nowhere. Silver robes trailed the floor behind the king, a relaxed eveningwear. Lantern light lapped at the walls, bathing the hall in dim, warm light, and they stood at the stare above the dungeons. He knew this area well, which was why he planned to cut through and be in and out of her room as soon as possible. If he hurried, he’d still have a few hours of rest before dawn.

“Son.” Thranduil raised a dark, silvery brow, gray eyes lingering long on the limp body in his arms.

His father was taller than Legolas, long, pale hair framing his face and hanging down the silk he wore. There was a fathomless depth in those eyes that Legolas never fully understood. But even now, he knew many thoughts were passing through the king’s mind.

“I am only taking her to her room.” He explained, stiffening under his father’s scrutiny. “She was exhausted.”

“Yes…” the king murmured slowly. “Who is she?”

“I told you that I trained an elleth in swordplay this week...?” Behind an expressionless mask, Legolas raced through his head, sure that he mentioned it.

“Yes, I remember.” The king walked over slowly, still staring at the girl’s sleeping face.

Legolas wasn’t sure why, if it was in response to his scrutiny or not, but she turned away, buried her face in his chest. He wanted to cringe at the startled, disapproving expression that crossed the king’s face. But he didn’t. He stood straighter. It was how a prince should behave before the king.

“You did not tell me that it was the Lorien elf, however.” He tilted his head slowly, voice as soft as silk. “Where again, did you get the child?”

“We found her just outside the borders.” Legolas explained carefully. And then, he did something he never expected. He did it before he had time to wonder why. “It was the night after the Faerie’s visit to me, Father.”

As expected, the king snapped his gaze up and stared at him. “Your dream, you mean, son.”

“My…vision.” He agreed, “…whomever it was sent by.”

Thranduil just narrowed his eyes, the girl in his arms forgotten. A silent breath of relief escaped his lips, and Legolas didn’t mean to. But he did mean to hold her tighter. Something told him to turn, pull her out of the king’s notice. He didn’t know what it was.

“I suggest you carry on then, my son.” Thranduil shifted back, and his gaze fell on the she-elf again, only once. “We’ll not wish to keep our guests waiting at the borders.”

Legolas smiled slightly. “We will not. I will be sure of it.”

With that, he half-bowed a little awkwardly with the girl in his arms, before leaping gracefully up the flight of shadowed steps. He did it carefully, but quick. The king would disapprove of the little elleth; he knew it.

She knew much about the Faerie, and far more than she told him. His father would try to keep that knowledge from him, one way or another. Knowledge Legolas was determined to get.

So Legolas reached the shadowed, oak door of her room and he carefully balanced her on his knee, opening the door with his free hand. It was pitch dark inside, and he gently closed the door behind him. An arch-shaped streak of light lit the bed though, faint moon shining from the window and narrow terrace, breaking from the clouds.

Legolas lay her gently into the coverlet, before lifting her head onto a dark pillow and draping a blanket over her slender frame. A leather bound book tucked underneath it, a journal of some kind, but he left it alone. He wasn’t here to pry.

And suddenly, he paused, casting one last look. The pendant burned at his chest, warm and pulsing, and he touched it, letting his eyes linger on the auburn hair fanned out over the bed.

 _Why was she there?_ She didn’t belong here. She was too small, too fragile a creature to be here. Why had Lorien sent her of all people to fight their battles?

Her fingers groped for something, looked for something to latch onto, and he wasn’t vain enough to think it was him. So he filled them with another pillow and she relaxed, sank into the mattress and breathed deeper. Legolas looked at her a long while, as the rain pattered the window, and she looked frightened…alone. A part of him wanted to stay. He couldn’t understand the thought. It was ridiculous.

Nothing could touch her here…She was safe. _What was she afraid of?_ What was this creeping sensation of something larger looming behind every word she spoke?

It was madness. Legolas cursed himself. He’d been reading too many legends and oldwife’s tales! Too many myths filled his head.

Only of three things now, was he sure.

A spirit _had_ visited him that night, no matter what his father or anyone else told him. That was one. He would use any means necessary to find her, and his friends would help him… _That’s two,_ he thought. And the girl sleeping under his eyes was not something to be exploited.

She was strange, yes. There was something queer in the way she looked at him, pulled close to him and then turned away, as if a crime to do it. But on his quest, his need to find the presence he felt, the spirit who gave such a gift that he couldn’t understand, he wouldn’t…no, he _couldn’t_ now…hurt the little elleth. She was important. And that was three.

Legolas realized he shouldn’t, a moment too late to stop himself, but slowly, he stooped and gently touched his lips to her forehead. “Sleep well, kitten…” He stroked her hair with the backs of his fingers, drew the blanket to her chin so she wouldn’t be cold, and without another word, Legolas left.

The door latched soundlessly behind him.

 

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	9. Chapter 9

Dawn comes early the next morning, clear and cold. Where the sun hasn’t risen yet, stars light the faint purple sky in glittering dots.

I look around, enveloped in a dark, velvet cape and searching for anything familiar. The visions returned last night, just as terrifying. But thankfully, it was just a few hours until dawn. I woke in a cold sweat, washed my face, and I could push them away.

At least twenty elves linger in the clearing outside the fortress now, waiting, talking, packing…making themselves useful. About half as many horses rest nearby. A towering stone arch shelters the animals, and the beasts, stamping and snorting impatiently in the morning light, stand as impressively as their warriors. Their muscled bodies shine, voluminous tails swishing back and forth, and I shy away from their great heads. They look at me with dark, beautiful eyes, but I can’t help feeling the power rippling under their coats.

Suddenly, a light touch to my arm sends me reeling around.

“Captain Falaviel…” I breathe, clutching my heart and forcing the rapid pounding to still. Wild, dark waves cascade down her back, tied from her face in tight plaits.

“You certainly are nervous.” She comments, raising an arched brow. She leads the same dark mare by the reins; I recognize him from the night I arrived. A tight, velvet bodice laces down her sides and runs in skirt-like tails down her legs, doing little to hide her shapely curves. I wish I could frown without being obvious. “Prince Legolas requested I give you these.”

I stare, blinking in surprise. In her hands lay a polished, mahogany bow and quiver. Leaves spiral from base to hilt, tooled into the dark wood, white-fletched swan feathers filling the leather sheathe to the brim.

“For me…” I shake my head, frowning, “But why?”

 _Eru knows I’ve never shot one._ But I don’t tell her that. She doesn’t need to know. Again, she raises that skeptical, condescending brow. I think she knows what I don’t say.

“I believe he expected you to ask Captain Andaer for lessons using it.” she glances to the bow and back.

“I didn’t say I couldn’t use it.” I snatch it from her fingers, swinging it angrily onto my back, and I adjust the belt to ride snugly across my chest. With that, I lift my chin, suddenly deliriously glad I ripped the healing gauze off my hands this morning. They felt much better anyway, and only small, red streaks mark my palms where the sores were.

"I’d thank you to convey my gratitude to him, if you see him.”

“I will tell Legolas as _soon_ as I do.” She tilts her head in a small smile, and I suddenly wish my boots had heels. I stand straighter. “We are scouting the trail ahead this morning.”

“Oh.” Well, of course they are. Legolas and the raven-haired beauty, riding the trail…alone. I can see it now. _And why not?_ There’s certainly no one _here_ to protest…

“Thank the lad for what?” A gruff voice snaps me from the dark place my thoughts sink into.

Gimli comes up beside, dressed in familiar leather and a metal crested helmet. His worn, chipped battle-axe plants into the earth, and he looks up from bushy brows.

“For these.” I gesture to the bow and quiver on my back, barely looking from the silent, dark eyes of Falaviel. They’re crystal green, perfect and wide. Even for the Eldar, she’s beautiful. _It’s strange how such a simple thing can generate these feelings in me._ Hate.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” I force a smile, glancing to Gimli, and the instant I do, I realize she’s walking away without a backward glance. He nods slowly, fingering gloved hands around the cleaver, and I glance down.

“Legolas sent them.” I sigh.

“Why didn’t he come himself, then?” he grunts, hefting the weapon over one shoulder. A shout echoes through the still forest…Andaer’s, I realize…and the elves mount up. The two captains have brought a patrol each, and the rest form a staggered line between.

“I don’t know. I guess he’s busy.”

“He was up in a tree fletching arrows, last time I saw him. Perched up there like a little bird.”

I crack a half-hearted smile. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand him.”

“Don’t worry, lass. I’d fear for you if ye did.” Gimli snorts. “I certainly don’t.”

I laugh a little, but I should’ve known the moment wouldn’t last.

“Elleth?”

I look up with a start. A dark elf, warrior’s braids tying his chestnut hair back, extends a hand, holding the reins of a mare behind him. Dark eyes meet mine. At least from what I can remember, not being soaked in rain, this is Captain Andaer.

“Your horse, my lady.”

I blink. “M-my horse?”

“Legolas’s orders.” He explains under his breath.

I slowly lift a hand, touching the tear-drop white mark on the mare’s face. He smiles sympathetically at the wide-eyed stare I give the massive beast, but thankfully, the horse moves on with only a slight tug. The elf guides him into a slow walk.

“Did he send you, too?”

“Actually, I volunteered. Elesia couldn’t seem to communicate well with this fine animal.” He leans down, whispering loudly. “They don’t get along.”

I smile.

So the company moves out into the early sun, flecks of light bursting through the leaves, and the thought of riding the creature doesn’t even cross my mind. I lead her by the halter, eyeing the brown, shimmering body trotting beside a little warily. Her mane, the warm brown of damp earth, flags out in the breeze, dewy eyes as black as night.

“Why would he want me to have a horse?” I look at her head bobbing along beside, and Gimli shakes his.

“Like I said lass, I doubt I’ll ever understood that elf.”

I squint, moving as one with the dark clothed elves. He seems so close to him, like a brother. I find it hard to believe they never met before. “How long have you known him?” I ask curiously. “Since the counsel at Imladris?”

“How did ye know about that?” he squints, but not suspiciously.

“Oh, I…heard of it.” I shrug. “So, had you never seen him before that?”

He nods. “Aye. That was the first time the lad and I met.” Gimli nearly laughs. “And it was an unpleasant meeting, at that. But things changed, I s’pose, in the next few months. We moved on.”

I smile a little wryly. I’ve known him--well, watched him at least-- far longer than that. What hope is there for me? I think the dwarf knows him better than I do…

The dim sunlight climbs a gradual path across the sky through the morning. By the time high noon passes, I’ve managed to convince one of the green-clad elves to ride the steed for me. I suppose I forgot to mention that his prince gave him specifically to me. Terlen, so-named, sprang lightly into the saddle like he was born for it, and I smile slightly, watching her tale swish back and forth.

Andaer forgot to mention it as well, at least with a helpful glance from me. Bless him.

We follow a narrow, winding trail through the twisting trunks. Only whisks of yellow light burst through the forest’s canopy, just enough to see my feet and the roots and stones along the rough path. We walk all morning, the mounted elves moving along the side. I notice they switch places regularly though, some taking up the rear, some taking the lead.

Gimli travels a few steps from me the entire time, and I find myself wondering at the dwarf’s thoughts. I’m about to ask him why he’s here, if he was asked to keep watch on me, what he’s thinking…but suddenly, a familiar voice snaps my focus in two.

“So you didn’t appreciate my gift, then?”

I snap my chin up. Where did he come from?

Gimli grunts, not bothering to lift his helmeted head. “Aye. And a fine gift it was too, elf!” he scoffs. “A great beast that she can’t ride and wouldn’t want to.”

I’d protest that if the dwarf weren’t joking. Besides, there’s too much truth in it. Even the animal’s eyes are bigger than mine. Legolas rides up beside, his boot in the stirrup bumping my arm once. He thinks it’s funny, judging by the smirk on his face, and he looks at the fiery bearded dwarf.

“There’s not a finer steed in the kingdom. I thought it would surely best _walking_.”

“Well that’s well and good, but he’s twice her size!”

I nearly laugh. _He’s talking about my height?_ A dwarf?

“Well, I thought she’d like to save some strength for _training_ tonight.” Legolas protests, as if I weren’t even here. I brush a fringe of hair from my face, frowning. “That bow is a _weapon_ , master dwarf…a fine skill. It takes practice, you know.”

“Aye, and so does riding those infernal beasts.” He chuckles back.

“All right, then.” With an invisible movement, Legolas sends the horse jumping forward. He reels the feisty white head around, spackled in gray, and he extends an arm, stamping to a halt and barring our way. A few of the soldiers glance over, smirking. The very air around the prince is charged with energy.

“Then learn with me.”

I can’t help shifting back a step, but the cluster of waiting elves block the way. I freeze, staring at his outstretched fingers.

“What say you?” he beckons, gesturing to take his hand. “You’ll be riding by nightfall! Then _perhaps_ my gift will be of some use.” He stares expectantly, and with my heart suddenly hammering in my throat, I hesitantly reach to take it.

In a rush of air, he pulls me off the ground and I grab his shoulder, splitting my cloak apart. I drop snugly behind the elf, against his back and I hold his waist. Legolas shifts forward in the saddle with a smug glance to the dwarf.

“I’d worry if I were you, dwarf.” He nods to me. “Your place on Arod is in jeopardy.”

Gimli chuckles. “And an uncomfortable place it is.”

“Uncomfortable, you say? And strange…I thought you _preferred_ it to running the plains of Rohan.” Legolas lightly taps the stallion’s flank with a heel.

“I think those days are long gone, elf!” he shakes his head, a deep laugh in his throat. “One can hope, anyway.”

We’re moving again, and a few odd glances throw our way, confused. I know what he means though. They ran the plains of Rohan together on this horse, fought the battles of Arda from Arod. I feel something like an intruder. Legolas’ back inches away though, my hips shoved up against his and the whisper of his hair in my face…it’s distracting enough to keep me from thinking about it.

“Good luck, lass.” He walks along beside, and I smile slightly.

“Come on. We’ve scouted a clearing just ahead.” Legolas informs us, and I look up. I wonder if it has anything to do with Captain Falaviel’s midnight tresses riding up just ahead.

I’m not sure where she’s been, but with another frown, I remember she said they’d been patrolling the woods. I hope someone else takes a turn.

“It will make a fine place to rest and eat.” The captain agrees, side-eyeing Legolas when he’s not looking.

“I’m not tired.” I say quickly, snapping my head up. Maybe we can just skip that part.

He laughs. “Perhaps not, but I believe the men…and women…” he glances pointedly to Falaviel’s smirk, “would like something to eat.”

A few light-hearted chuckles agree. I blush furiously, and I hide it in Legolas’ back. _Why do people continually laugh at me?_ Most of the company walks and rides ahead, at least, backs to the furious colors changing over my face. I keep my hands around his waist, sitting rigid in the easy stride of the horse, and I keep the shadow of his broad shoulders on my face.

 

 

***************************************

The clearing where the she-captain and Legolas chose is small and protected. I sit against a fallen tree, taking a whetstone from my pocket and watching Legolas leap lightly from a nearby branch. He walks over, picking an apple from a tray on his way, and the smell of roasting rabbit fills the air.

“The elleth is training with Andaer?” he asks me, taking a large bite of fruit. He collapses down beside, chewing prominently.

I run the stone up the axe in my lap, against the grain. I spare him only a glance. “Actually, I think it’s some pointy-ear named Terlen. He helped her with that great beast you sent her.”

I flick the razor dust from the blade, examining it carefully…before realizing he’s silent. I look up. The elf stares off at the glimpse of auburn in the trees with a frown.

“Well, what is it?” I grunt, feeling a little fed-up with these mood swings of his.

“It is nothing,” Legolas drops his eyes. He takes another bite from the apple, but slower, leaning back on the trunk and chewing deliberately. He stares again.

The tall elf stands behind the she-elf, off in the trees, helping her hold the bow. The top of her head just reaches his chin, and he leans in close, sights the target. Even from here, I can hear the light-hearted laughs outside the talk of the camp. His hands run down her hips, keeping her body straight with the bow. Besides the elves stationed around the perimeter, scanning for danger, no one else seems to notice.

I look between them, sighing hard. “If ye don’t like it…just could go interrupt.”

Legolas barely even starts, staring intently. “What? Of course not…I wouldn’t think of it.”

I grunt. “Then why do you keep watching?”

Legolas merely shrugs, making an effort at turning away. His eyes linger and dart back, though. Pathetic, really. “I only wish to make sure this…Terlen…respects the elleth. I do not know him.”

I tilt an eyebrow, squinting in a faint beam of light. “Ye wouldn’t be a _teensy_ bit overprotective of the lass, would ye, elf?”

He scoffs. “Do not be absurd, dwarf. I simply would not like upsetting diplomatic relations between my father and Lothlorien.”

I can’t help it. I laugh, a deep, hearty laugh. “ _Diplomatic_ relations! What do I look like to you, Legolas? A _dunce_?” I shake my head, removing the helmet from my head.

The humid air and heat is enough to condense in my beard, forming red droplets. At that moment though, Terlen picks up a stray strand of hair from her face and tucks it into the tangled braid falling down her shoulder. His fingers then rest back on the thin leather tied around her waist.

“Come, lad.” I sigh. “He’s simply giving her a lesson.”

A long, uncomfortable moment passes. “… But does he have to _touch_ her so?”

I chuckle. “He’s teaching her archery. Do ye not do the same to your students?”

He wrinkles his nose. “Perhaps…when they’re female.”

“Well, there ye have it.”

“So you admit he touches her too much!”

I don’t answer. _What’s the point?_ He looks away with a huff, and we just sit like that a few minutes. The elf grudgingly eats; I hone the already sharp blade, watching other things all the while. I stare at him; he stares at the girl.

It’s a relief to both of us when Captain Falaviel—lingering nearby, studying the knives in her belt—suggests we move on. It was a short break, but when the meat and lembas has filled me to the brim, I heartily agree. Legolas needs something to distract him. I notice as the elves mount up though, he doesn’t bother to ask the girl if she wants to ride with him.

“We camp again at nightfall.” He nods to Falaviel, and she smiles agreeably.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Legolas grabs the Lorien elf’s waist from behind, tossing her into his saddle, and the smile drops from the captain’s lips. If it weren’t for the dark glares exchanged this morning, I suppose I wouldn’t notice, but at the surreptitious look passed her way…I can’t help chuckling. _Women…_

Elf women, at that.

Legolas maneuvers himself into the front of the saddle, reeling Arod’s head around, and he grins briefly at me. It flashes an instant before he calls out. “Oh, Terlen!”

The elf snaps his head up, surprised, and he pauses throwing a pack over his shoulder. We start moving out of the clearing, and the prince speaks up.

“I believe we pass here through darker territory. We could use an extra scout. Are you up to the task?”

“I…yes, of course my lord.” He says hurriedly, covering the frown of confusion as best he can. “I volunteer.”

Legolas lifts a hand, pointing ahead, and he grins again. “Good! Stay alert…and keep a good distance. We want no surprise attacks.”

“Of course, my prince!” He grabs his bow from the ground and hurries off, running on light feet after the rest. In all likelihood, he’s taken care of the problem that is Terlen for the rest of the day. No one spares a glance. Only the raven-haired Captain Falaviel, riding nearby, watches with an odd look.

I pass him a frown, walking beside, but his wide blue eyes are innocent. “Why Gimli, would you disapprove of precautionary measures?”

I glance to the elleth’s arms around his waist, her curious gaze against the elf’s back, and his smug little smirk. She looks at him like he is Eru’s sweet gift to Arda.

“Ye are incorrigible, elf.” I chuckle.

 

__________________________________________

Nightfall…

The next day’s sunset, the creak and whir of night insects fill the dusky air. It’s a relief. The forest has been deathly silent, eerily so, all day. Barely a whisper of wind stirs the leaves. The quiet singing of an elf in the treetops breaks the quiet though, and the scent of roasting meat again hangs in the air.

They’re keeping vigilante watch, Legolas says. If an attack is coming, we’ll know it long before it comes.

The steady crashes of blade on blade echo through the clearing, and as I sit, devouring the cooked leg of some bird or other, I glance up. Andaer and the she-elf fight just outside the glade, sparring back and forth. Supposedly, he’s teaching her the proper ways to ‘disarm and disable the enemy’.

She’d do better with a good sturdy axe in her hands, if they asked me. I noticed that no one did.

The girl has been up and around nearly non-stop these past two days. When one of the Greenwood elves aren’t helping her fight, they’re telling past stories, talking of the future, keeping her awake. They don’t even know it, but Legolas told me that she has trouble sleeping. So I didn’t question her about it. It’s her own business, after all.

“…and the south pass will be crawling in them.” Falaviel breaks my thoughts. I take a swig of water, looking over. The wineskin I brought is empty already. She sits close to Legolas near a burning fire, trailing a finger across a worn map. “I think here would be our best chance of passing unnoticed.”

The prince nods slightly, and I can’t tell if the elf’s mind is really on her words or not. There’s an old, worn book shoved in his belt…about the Faerie, I’d guess…but I can’t be sure.

“I agree.” He murmurs.

A few of the troops sit together, talking in low voices, only an occasional laugh breaking the sounds of camp. A few small tents scatter the clearing, only lit in dim laps of firelight, and I was a little surprised at this. I always thought these flittish woodelves slept in the trees. With the darkness so nearby though, Legolas told me in a low voice that the trees here were not altogether trustworthy. Under an attack, they could abandon you as easily as they would move to catch you.

I grunt, thinking on it. I’ve seen too many walking, talking trees to call him mad…

And suddenly, the mundane murmur of the camp snaps in two.

“Forgive me!”

I look up the instant Legolas leaps to his feet. Before I have time to register the startled expressions flashing through the camp, or the Lorien elf staggering back in the nearby woods, Legolas has disappeared in a flash. He blurs into view at their side.

“What happened?” He hisses, and I scramble to my feet, grabbing my axe with me and running over. My first instinct is an attack, an invasion of some kind. I hit away the leaves barring my view, turning my head back and forth, before freezing on the girl. Blood streams from her neck.

“I-it was an accident, my lord! Forgive me.” Andaer is reaching to the elleth already, and I let out a short breath of surprise. She clutches her throat, gasping. Blood streams from her fingers in gushes, running like red water.

“By the gods…” I stare, and Legolas pushes the captain out of the way, instantly surrounded in wide eyes and a healer.

Before he has time to blink, Legolas pulls her off her feet and shoves through the crowd, striding to the light of the fire with her in his arms. She’s still too surprised to speak, and when she begins to babble a choked out apology--for what I don’t know--he sets her into the bed of leaves. His eyes are wild and panicked, but his hands don’t tremble.

I don’t know what to do! She’ll be dead in a minute… _the little elleth, dead?_

I throw my arms out, keeping all but the healer well back, and Legolas rips her hand away from her throat, replacing it with his own. He keeps pressure on her neck. The blood in her fingers fills his, desperately trying to examine the wound while keeping the pressure…before freezing.

“I…I’m fine.” She chokes, coughing against him, and he slowly pulls back, panting and looking at the blood staining his fingers…I breathe a sigh of relief.

A bloody gash slices her palm open, but only a faint purple bruise mars her neck, a red handprint where her fingers were. The blood is from her hand, and as the healer cinches a rag through her fist, keeping it raised, it’s already subsiding. The punch to her throat still chokes off her breathing though, and Legolas wraps her in his arms, forcing her to lean over. The rasping cuts off, and she breathes easier.

Legolas drops his head down, only his breath shaking, and the static in the air slowly eases. The elves disperse into the sheltered clearing, shaking their heads in wonder.

“I’m…fine.” She whispers, shrinking, and once her throat clears enough, she stutters. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking. I didn’t mean t-t…”

“Don’t apologize!” Legolas lashes out, throwing his head up.

The air stills.

Andaer, kneeling beside and touching her comfortingly and uselessly, stares at him in wide-eyed surprise. Even Legolas’s furious eyes subside, and he takes a sharp breath.

“I am sorry.” He says immediately, looking down and up again, and he shakes his head, pushing Andaer away. “Forgive me. Forgive me…” he says quieter, stroking her neck.

Slowly, the elf tending her hand resumes, and Legolas cleans the blood from her throat. I see his hands shake. He grimaces like the pain was his.

“I am sorry, elleth.” Captain Andaer finally gets in, and she nods vigorously.

“I-it was my fault. I wasn’t looking.”

“No.” Legolas say, harsh again, but he aims it at the captain. “It was not her fault. _You_ should have been watching.”

“I know.” He drops his head, clamping his jaw shut hard in shame. “It has been long since I’ve trained a beginner. I should have paid attention.”

The prince takes the rag a helpful hand gives him, and he cleans the rest of her throat with it, before wiping his hands and examining her neck. She pulls her fingers out of the healer’s grasp as soon as she lets her, and Legolas waves her away.

“It is all right. She is fine.” He murmurs, and I lean back, the rapid pounding of my heartbeat subsiding. The rest of the camp gradually moves away, leaving only the girl, the healer, Andaer and Legolas. Falaviel looks on from a distance.

“What were you thinking?” Legolas says quietly, low enough that the others don’t hear. Either that, or they’re wise enough to pretend they don’t. “You could have killed her!”

“It wasn’t like that!” She whispers quickly, and Legolas snaps her a sharp look. Her protests wither and she shrinks back.

“I am sorry, my lord.” Captain Andaer squares his shoulders. “I take full responsibility.”

“What were you trying to teach her?” He narrows his eyes fiercely, and the Captain keeps his head up, even though it’s obvious he wants to shift back.

“The Herle defense.”

“That is to _disarm_ the enemy, not slice them in half.”

“But-” the girl again.

“Quiet!” Legolas hisses, and at the strange glances thrown their way, he drops his voice again. “Perhaps I should _show_ you the maneuver?” he turns to the captain.

And suddenly, one more look at the blood staining his hands, Legolas leaps to his feet and drags the Captain with him. Before he has time to respond, he yanks the blades from his back and shoves the captain’s own at him. “Show me!”

With that, the prince slashes the blade at him with a violent spark, and Andaer leaps back, gasping, hurling himself into a defensive movement. In a few quick slashes, Legolas’s hands a blur, he fights him back until Andaer’s blades are thrown before his face. In an instantaneous movement, Legolas twists his hilts around the others, and with a jerk, yanks them free.

Andaer’s blades clatter helplessly to the ground, and the prince shoves forward, slamming the captain back into the bark of a tree, blades crossed before his throat.

“Do you see?” He breathes fast, applying just enough pressure for a tense ripple to course through the air. The elves at the fire don’t even pretend not to see anymore. “ _That_ is the Herle defense. Learn it well, so you may _teach_ it well.”

“I am sorry, my lord.” Andaer apologizes again, letting Legolas’s knives drop from his throat.

“Next time you-”

“ _Stop_ it!”

I freeze at the shout.

Behind me, the girl scrambles to her feet. She strides through the woods and with a gasp of the onlookers, she stumbles and hits Legolas back in the chest. He staggers backward, shocked. She glowers up at him fiercely, standing between the bewildered captain and Legolas’s eyes, wide in surprise.

“Stop it!” she reaffirms. “It wasn’t his fault! And it _was_ my fault. I wasn’t paying attention; I cut myself on my _own_ knife, not his. Stop blaming him and start listening to _me_ for a change!”

There’s pause…

A deadly, pin-drop silent minute passes then. She stands there, breathing hard, panting, and Legolas just stares. Not a single elf in the clearing breathes a whisper, waiting, watching the prince’s response…before the girl shifts back. She doesn’t move out of the line of fire, but she drops her eyes and whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

Another bewildered, silent minute…before a slow smile quivers at Legolas’s mouth. He stares at her intently, and at the inaudible relief of his men, he reaches his fingers to lightly touch her face.

“Don’t apologize.” He murmurs.

“I told you knives don’t like me.” She whispers, subdued.

And then, even my eyes widen a little the instant Legolas reaches out. He grabs the Captain’s shoulder and pulls him into a half-embrace. And suddenly, I realize Andaer and Legolas are better friends than I thought. It made sense that the two and Falaviel joined him with the company again.

“Forgive me, Andaer.” He says aloud, releasing him, and he doesn’t drop his voice. He doesn’t even look at the rest of the company. I wonder a long minute, but maybe this is where the men’s obvious adoration for their prince comes from. His willingness to say those words…

“I overreacted.” Legolas mutters at the ground, pulling from around his shoulders, and suddenly, he throws the blade to the ground and walks away. Legolas shakes his head, and with his fingers trembling, he disappears into the woods.

Only a glimpse of pale blonde hair shows where he stops, and he drops to the ground, holding his head in his hands. He’s too far away for the camp to see, but I do. The girl does too, because she stares after him, bewildered.

“I am sorry, elleth.” Andaer says quietly, patting her shoulder, before moving slowly back to the burning fire. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

She nods slowly, eyes still wide and staring at the pale shine of Legolas’s hair.

“Don’t worry, lass.” I say carefully, and I can feel her trembling from here. She looks ready to collapse. “I’ll go after him.”

“Th-thank you.” she whispers.

“Go…” I shrug, blinking at the ground. “Go rest.”

I watch her leave, just to be sure she doesn’t fall over on the way. Legolas wouldn’t be happy if she sprained a leg. In the dimly lit camp though, only a few faint sprays of firelight lapping at the door, she crawls into a small tent crouched on the forest floor. It’s the first time she’s actually used it. The flaps close behind her, and as I huff out a sigh, picking up Legolas’s fallen blade, I hope the girl gets some rest. She’ll not last long in a battle if she keeps this up.

And so, when the night grows still again, I walk a rabbit trail until I come up beside the elf. He sits atop a fallen log, cradling his head in his hands, and the soft breaths he takes shudder.

I stand , shifting from boot to boot, unsure of what to do for a long moment. Before slowly, I sit down beside. He sensed my approach long before now, I know, but he doesn’t answer. I lift a hand, patting his back.

“Well…are you going to tell me what all that was about, lad?” I grunt, and when he doesn’t answer, I lean on my knees. My fingers clasp together in a rough, calloused fold. When he slowly lifts his head though, I hand him his blade.

“Here. You’ll likely need that.”

“Thank you.” He mutters quietly. Legolas sheathes the blade on his back.

“So…?” I encourage.

“I do not know, Gimli.” He sighs. “I have just felt…such a strain, recently. I know that my actions were uncalled for; do not tell me.”

“Aye.” I agree.

“But I…I felt it.” he looks up carefully, as if expecting me to lean away. “I felt it, Gimli.” He clarifies. “I felt her pain. When the knife cut her, hit her throat…I felt a sudden surge of urgency, it-” he breaks off, grimacing, before pulling his pendant free of his shirt. “I _felt_ it, I tell you.”

I don’t answer, narrowing my eyes a little.

“I know not what powers this possess, but every day, I feel I lose time. I feel that it runs short. Who knows what strength this thing has? Now it warns me when my friends are endangered? Is _that_ what it was? I have to find her, Gimli!”

“Why? Have ye not had any progress in finding your spirit woman?”

He sets to fiddling with the necklace tucked under his shirt, as he’s taken up doing, and his forehead furrows again. “It is just that…I have been searching for more than a week, and I do not have enough. I feel like I am running circles of useless information.”

I sigh, more of a grunt, but I pity the elf. He’s worked himself up far too much over this ordeal, but I did agree to help him any way I could, “Enough what?”

“Enough knowledge, enough anything,” He looks over, almost pleading, “You must tell me Gimli. Am I mad? Should I stop this now? I feel if I pursue this path, it could destroy my life, yet I can think of nothing else!”

I think about it. If I wanted to stop the elf from making more of a fool of himself, I suppose here’s my chance. And that’s what he was tonight, a fool. There was no reason to challenge Andaer. I can’t quite though. He’s read me some of this Larion’s journal. No matter what I used to think, there’s something to the whole story of his Faerie.

“No…” I say finally, squinting in the faint light. Sometimes, looking at his young, bright face, it’s hard to believe he’s seen more seasons than my grandfather. Sometimes, I think of him as a child, but I know it’s not so. Elves are strange folk; their feelings guide them. If his are this strong, he’d best not ignore them.

Now his face is etched in grief, worry.

“Ye aren’t mad, lad.” I mutter finally.

Legolas blinks. “I thought of all people, you would not tell me this.” He looks away, off to the dim glow of fire in the camp. “Believe me, Gimli, if I could force her from my head, I would. Every day feels like an eternity… I’ve never felt time like this! I feel like it drains away, further and further, and if I don’t catch it, something will slip away and it will be too late.”

“This…woman?”

He sighs, slowly lowering his head into his hand, massaging his forehead, before nodding. “I fear what I am doing to the elleth, too, Gimli. Sometimes, she becomes so angry with me...” he stares at his hands, frowning. “I fear something will happen. That she will do something to stop me, something terrible.”

“The lass?” I squint, confused. How did she come into this?

“She knows so very much, Gimli. I feel it!” he looks up, suddenly adamant, almost angry. “She knows so much that she won’t _tell_ me.”

“Well, how much have you told her?”

He blinks. “What?”

I don’t answer a long while. I take the pipe from my pocket, and though I don’t light it, I put it between my lips.

“Have you told her everything? About what happened that night? How ye feel about it?” I remember the look of utter heartbreak on the girl’s face that day in the training grounds. “Honestly, I think ye’re not communicating well with the lass.”

“Perhaps…” he shakes his head. “But it is hard to describe. She might think me mad.” He smiles slightly. “I wish you had seen it, my friend.” He lifts his head, looking at me with shining eyes, before up to the sky, as if drawing a picture before me.

“She shone with the light of a thousand stars. The very air glowed. I couldn’t touch her if I tried, Gimli. She was ethereal, nothing but spirit. Her eyes were white, like a pale morning sun. But they looked at me so…” he stops, grimacing, and he stares out through the fields, lips parted, like the memory’s haunted him every night since. His last words are almost a whisper, “…so broken.”

I grunt, wondering what to say to that. I wonder just how many hearts this elf plans to break before this ordeal is over. I think it was simpler when all we worried about was counting severed goblin heads.

“Well, what did she look like? I mean, besides…glowing.” I say the word carefully. It’s hard to believe. To be honest though, I don’t _not_ believe him either. After all, his eyes have never been wrong before. Why now?

He hesitates, dropping his head. “I am not sure… but I know her Gimli. I would try and explain it to the girl, but I fear I can’t. I knew her _presence_ , in that moment. It was so strong, I felt like the things she felt were my own. There was so much…pain. I think that,” he stops, and here, he looks away. “…I don’t know.”

I narrow my eyes. “Come on, lad. Out with it. What is it?”

“I think…” his breathing quickens, clamping his jaw shut hard, forcing himself to let it come out of his mouth, “…I think she loved me.”

The pipe goes slack in my teeth. “What?”

He leaps to his feet, grabbing his bow and quiver out of the grass. “I have duties to attend to, Gimli. It is my turn for watch. Many apologies, but I am late already!”

I shake my head, grabbing onto his arm. “ _What_?”

“She loves me, Gimli,” he pauses, suddenly exuberant in the thought of escape, looking ready to laugh out loud, “…and I have to find out why! You are right. I’m _not_ mad.”

“I’m beginning to rethink that!” I shout after him.

He grins, but with that, he’s running off on feather-light feet, leaving not a track or a sound behind him.

And to think I was about to talk to him about this little elf from Lorien! No doubt, she’ll be crestfallen. Poor thing.

 

***********************************************

 

 

 


	10. Dreams

 

 _Rain…_ rain?

What’s happened? _Where am I?_

I jolt awake, only to stare out over a clear, midnight sky. Mist blows on the wind, whipping over my face, and I can feel it, feel the storm clouds gathering. But I can’t see them. I stand in the vastness of open, endless fields. The reeds ripple and blow like sheets in the night, and I grimace, shielding my face against the cold snap of rain blasting against my face, winding in rivulets down my skin.

It’s isn’t real. It can’t be. This is a vision!

And then, a sinking feeling hits the pit of my stomach. My heart races; my blood turns cold. _Something’s happened..._

“You think you’ve outwitted us, do you?”

I start violently, whirling around. The cold, fierce eyes of the Spirit appear, and lightning cracks. The low ripple of thunder, I feel it. A senseless panic starts in my heart, and I shake my head, whispering.

“N-no…no, I don’t. What’s happened?”

His once golden robes are thick black in the night, whipping around his feet, and he walks over the earth in long, slow steps. The reeds part for him.

“You think you can escape us, you weak, pathetic child.”

I shake my head, terrified. Suddenly, his hand unfurls and I gasp, clawing at my neck.

“What have you done?” His voice shakes the earth, and I scramble desperately against the invisible fingers, clutching at my throat.

This isn’t real. It can’t be real! It’s just a vision. He can’t kill me this way… _can he?_

“I…” I choke, seeing red, “…I’ve done nothing! I swear it. I-” I can’t breathe.

“ _Where_ are the missing pieces?” he nearly shouts, and the words shatter my ears, resounding in my head. “How did you do it?!”

My back slams into dirt and my ears ring, gasping free air. I clutch my neck, coughing, and I taste blood.

“ _How_ are you protecting him?”

I look up, panting, and he kneels over me. His eyes glow a thousand times brighter than the brightest fire, and they sear through mine like hot irons, locking me in place. His hand hits my chest, pinning me to the ground.

“Do not lie to me, foolish child. I’ll make him regret it.”

_Legolas?_

I struggle, clamping my jaw, shuddering in fury and terror. He doesn’t wait for an answer. The bright flash ignites and he hurls himself upward, pulling me with him, and suddenly, a tree that I didn’t see slams into my back. It knocks the air out of my chest, and I’m senseless. I can’t see.

“We took your power. We cursed you.” he says quietly, a low ripple that I feel shudder down my spine. He leans closer, tilting his head like a serpent. “But there was nothing left to _take_ , was there?” It’s not a question.

I don’t know what he means, but I grab at his wrist anyway. It pins me in place, clawing desperately for freedom. It feels like stone, crushing tighter, and it isn’t real. Him, this vision, the pain he makes me think I feel, it’s raw strength I can’t fight.

“Every spirit has power in their essence! It is what we are.” The fierce glow of his eyes narrow, sharpens, like lanterns in his skull. “You gave it away.”

He rips away from me, and I drop to my knees, gasping at his feet.

“I didn’t think it was possible…” he turns away. “But somehow, you did it. There are holes in your memory that we cannot see, not even through you. You knew we couldn’t touch you there, didn’t you? Tell me how!”

And then, my vision grows clear. I pant, leaning on my hands, staring into the dirt. My necklace…the pendant I gave him. It protects him. _Could it be?_ Not even He has the power to hurt him, at least not in Thranduil’s realm, not without the stone. What else could he possibly mean?

“No…” I whisper venomously. “How have you seen me?”

“Through the bracelet, of course,” he spits, like it was obvious.

Of course…

Understanding dawns, and I realize Tamling was wrong, or he lied to me. The charms on the band not only give me the strength to keep material form…but it’s a portal, a slip hole. Through it, even if only by me, they have some affect in Thranduil’s halls. It gives them power…but it’s not enough.

“You…” I pant, catching up. _Where was I?_ Where was I, really? And I remember... I was in my tent, just a few hours after talking with Gimli, fighting with Andaer. I must have fallen asleep in my tent.

“You can’t see me when I’m with him?”

“You _gave_ him something.” He shouts, “Tell me what it was! Even now, I can feel there’s no strength in you. You _gave_ it to him.”

I look up, almost laughing in sheer, terrified ecstasy. I willed what I wanted him to have in that stone, that’s all. I didn’t mean to put…the strength of my spirit? _I didn’t think it was possible…_ But I would have done it again. I realize that I’d rather any power I have be his than mine.

“You can’t touch him!” I laugh, looking up.

The Spirit snarls, guttural and furious, and suddenly, the bark hits my back again and my spine seizes up so tight I scream. I’ve never felt him like this before. Every nerve seems to flare in agony, and I claw at the bark. I can’t see, can’t even breath…and then…when I feel a blackness descending… it’s gone.

A brilliant flash of light sparks and I’m snapped loose instantly. I fall to my knees, gasping for air. Even in the dark, I feel the presence before I see it. A brilliant sphere of burning light soars along the ground, and it collides with the other in a burst of white lightning. The ensuing explosion throws me to the ground in a shower of dirt.

Tamling!

A violent tangle of whites, blacks, and orange flash through the night. Suddenly, they repulse each other and fly apart, Tamling’s body taking form the instant he lands on his feet.

“Leave her be!” he shouts.

I clutch my stomach, panting, and the Great Spirit lifts a shining hand.

“Stay out of this.”

I look between them, trying not to be obvious in scrambling to Tamling, before he reaches out and pulls me to his side. I bury my face in his chest, letting his robed arms engulf me, and I watch fury swell in the Great Spirit’s eyes. I shudder, latched onto him.

What happened? How could this be? Didn’t I feel it, the draining of my strength? Or maybe I thought it was grief, this curse… I have to live like this: weak, pathetic…forever?

“You have no _place_ here.” The spirit hisses, but he doesn’t come closer. Tamling shifts away, taking me with him, and I can feel the barrier of static energy there. Sparks like lightning flash across the sky, blood red.

“You will not try and bar me again, Dhaer.” He warns, stroking the hair from my face and narrowing black eyes at him. I can feel the tension ripple and tingle up the back of my neck. I clutch Tamling tighter. “I have a right to be here.”

“Let her go.” He snaps, “Let her face me alone!”

If anything, he holds tighter, laughing scornfully. “And _that_ is a fair fight?”

“She’s chosen this path.”

“You’ve forced her onto it!”

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, and anger swells in the midst of terror. I don’t like being spoken of like I’m not even here. Why won’t anyone tell me what’s happened? Why does no one listen to me?

The great spirit whips his eyes to me then. “You have only made things worse for that princeling.” He warns, the violent trembling in the earth subsiding a little.

And suddenly, I realize it’s true. I’ve given him enemies that he never deserved. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, pulling away from Tamling enough to stand at his side, and I breathe hard, clutching his fingers for support.

“Why do you hate him?”

I don’t know how, but I can feel it in his presence…resentment, fury.

“You tell me you’ll kill him if I don’t take his memory. But you aren’t frightened of Legolas!” I shout, tears searing my eyes. “Others knew. Larion knew, a _mortal_ man!” I force out, remembering the scribe’s journal we’ve been reading for days.

He knew more about us than I do, and they didn’t touch him. And at that, Tamling’s eyes snap violently over, staring at me in shock. I don’t even have time to wonder why.

“ _Why_ do you have to have him?” I demand, clenching my fists so hard they shake.

The spirit narrows his eyes, bright and sharp as flint. “Why do you think?”

I shake my head. I don’t know. He’s done nothing to them. His only crime is curiosity. I want to vomit.

“His father is Thranduil.” Tamling says quietly, glaring at the Great Spirit like a circling wolf.

I lift my chin. Thranduil? Is that why? Is this really about his parents? I never know what to think! I look around, taking in the vast stars, the endless fields in the night. This spirit, this creature of such awesome power…consumed with petty anger? It doesn’t seem possible.

I shake my head, grimacing, “Revenge? Is that it?”

“It is about our only prize, the _only_ material treasure we held dear: the stone of Ketedur.” He lifts a hand, and above his lifted palm, a vision of the stone flashes into view. Cut clear as diamond, shining in the night, the air around its face shimmers and glows.

“We placed power in it, knowledge, strength! For nearly five millennia, the king who stole it from us has kept it, hoarded it for himself. He’s used it to keep us away, bar us from our own birthright.”

“But why?” I look up, flashing my eyes between them. Tamling just glares at the other. “Why did he do it?” I demand anyway. “You were attacking him. Maybe he had the right.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tamling mutters. “They’ve decided ‘justice’. They won’t be moved.” He looks down, resting a hand behind my head. “Pray they do no more than that.”

“What _?_ ” I grimace. “No!”

The spirit moves forward, pointing at me with a black, shining finger. “We will take back what is ours. Then we will leave this place and exact punishment on him for this outrage.”

“By taking his _son_?” I reach out, but Tamling grabs my wrists, keeping me back. I want to scratch his eyes, shout, scream, something! How can they do this? Even after knowing of Larion? Or did they already know?

“By taking what is most dear to him, _just_ as he’s taken what is most dear to us.”

“You can’t do it!”

“You are right.” The raging skies still a little, and he narrows his eyes. “But you will.” The shade shakes his head, pure scorn. “Don’t be so foolish as to think whatever gifts you’ve left him will protect him from us forever. Will he never again leave Thranduil’s borders? Will he never dare move from his father’s protection? Even now, they plan a colony to be built, Ithilien. How will you convince him to abandon it?”

I drop my eyes, sagging in Tamling’s hands. He’s right.

Legolas would never agree to it. Even if I showed him what I was, he couldn’t live like that anymore. It would be like living under the shadow of the Dark One all over again. He’s fought too hard for that. Besides, they’d find a way to lure him out. It’s just a matter of time. And once they have the stone, not even his pendant will protect him.

“I can’t.” I whisper.

“Pathetic child…” he looks away, disgusted, and the world begins to tremble, shatter. “We don’t have unlimited patience. We want progress.”

I look away, before clinging to the last vestiges of Tamling’s presence as the vision fades. I feel what he lets me feel…pity, comfort, sadness.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper, invisible tears streaming down my face. I know they’re there.“…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right, little one.” He strokes my hair, the earth shuddering and snapping loose. “This will all be over soon. We can all go home.”

I shake my head, feeling him slowly slip from my fingers, and I don’t answer. I can’t. But maybe there’s something I can do to make it right. Maybe I just didn’t give enough. My heart isn’t enough to keep him safe; he needs my life. Even as the plan forms, I let it sink in. I accept it. And now, I know I’ll do anything to keep the fury of the Faerie from touching him.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper again. I’m sorry for everything.

 

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 _Thanks for reading chapter ten_.

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	11. Chapter 11 Capture

 

_The girl…_

Legolas snapped his head up. The pendant on his chest, tucked under his clothes, burned red-hot and he grabbed it, spinning around. A flare surged through him, danger, familiarity. The spirit!

“Havnon, take watch!”

Legolas bolted through the trees and leapt a shallow brook, running full-speed over the forest floor. Nothing but gray, smoky plumes rose from the fire, but he had no trouble finding camp. The shadow of resting elven bodies on the ground and in the lower boughs appeared, and he skidded to a halt, bow in hand.

Legolas looked around, breathing quickly. A few tents scattered the clearing, sheltering supplies and elves of his company who happened to like the feeling of it. A cool night wind blew…but all was still.

“Andaer!” he hissed. The captain snapped his head up. “Where’s the girl?”

He combed unbraided hair from his face, “Just for a walk.”

“What?” Legolas whispered.

“She had a nightmare.” He explained, squinting in the dark, confused. “She just wanted to be alone.”

“You let her _go?_ ”

“Don’t worry!” he whispered hurriedly, “The sentry won’t let her wander far.”

Legolas shook his head, before running off into the trees. He knew he must have been wrong, though. The captain would have sensed something if the spirit were here! _How did he feel her then?_ Or had he... Did he just imagine it?

The prince slowed, scanning the ground carefully. Light boot prints touched here and there, and he knew she’d come this way. Judging by their distance apart, she’d been running… But from what?

Legolas paused, standing absolutely still in the silence. He placed his hand on the smooth bark of a tree, listening… Nothing happened a quiet moment, nothing but the tittering of leaves a vast ways overhead, the creak of a distant night bird. And then, he heard the uneven, panting breaths. If he didn’t know better, he’d think it was the quiet breathing of a sobbing child.

Legolas stepped carefully over the forest floor, not a sound creaking from the leather soles of his boots. He found her against a fallen trunk in the dip of a wooded hollow. She hugged her knees, staring off into the depthless night, rocking back and forth. She curled into a tight little ball, not crying, barely even breathing…just staring.

“Elleth…” he whispered. Legolas came up behind, afraid of startling her, but she didn’t move, not even a blink. He narrowed his eyes, concerned, before slowly kneeling down beside. “What happened?” he asked, one hand in the leaves and the other on his knee.

She still didn’t answer, but her eyes darted to his, quivering under a sheen of unshed tears. They were terrified.

“Who was it?” he dared ask, slowly, carefully. “Was it the spirit?”

And then, she did something he never expected. The woman reached out and grasped his collar, yanking him forward with surprising force. Legolas gasped in surprise, grabbing her wrists away, and she fumbled with his clothes until she ripped the pendant out from under his shirt.

“Do you know what she did?!” She whispered venomously.

He kept her back, grabbing her shoulders, but she held his necklace up.

“Do you _know_ what she gave you?”

“What are you talking about?” He tried to snatch it out of her grasp, but she held on tight. The tears were streaking down her dusty face in white rivulets now.

“She gave you everything…” she kept the pendant in one hand with an iron grip, before clasping his face in the other. She pulled him so close he didn’t resist, shocked into utter stillness. “…and nothing. She’ll destroy you, Legolas! You have to kill her _first_!”

“What _?_ ”

“Th-the pendant.” She rasped, shaking violently, before the girl gripped his neck in both hands, holding his face. “Destroy the necklace. Don’t you see? She gave you everything, her power, the strength of her s-spirit. You’re linked through it. You can destroy her! You can do it.”

Legolas ripped her hands from his skin, leaving prints on his neck where she grabbed him, and he clamped both her wrists in one fist. He took her shoulder in the other, forcing her to still. “You are talking madness, elleth. How could you possibly know this? And why would I…” he grimaced at the thought, “…why would I _kill_ her?”

“Because they’ll kill you! Maybe without the stone, maybe without it they’ll be too afraid of the king. Don’t you see? They’ll take you, ransom you, _something-_ ”

Legolas shook his head. “What are you talking about? How could destroying the pendant do anything?”

And then, she froze in his hands, staring at him with tear-filled eyes. Before he knew it, before she could answer, she fell into his arms, sobbing.

“L-Legolas… just do it. Take it all. Take everything. She wants to die! P-please,” she gasped, clutching him, burying her face in his chest. “…please. Just do it.”

“No.” He shook his head, looking everywhere but down, the sky, the trees. What should he do? _Was the girl insane?_ Did she even know what she was saying? “…I will not. I will _never_ destroy her gift.”

“Why… oh why?” she whispered, her sobs subsiding, and she clung to his clothes. “Please, Legolas! Trust me; do it. All your questions will be answered.” She looked up, and when he got to his feet, trying to pull away, she followed him and grabbed on harder. “You’ll see! You’ll see everything. You’ll know why…Maybe you’ll be safe!”

“You don’t know what you’re saying _._ ”

She shook her head, and tears flowed again. Finally, Legolas gave in. He pulled her into his arms and let her hold onto him. In the semi darkness of the Greenwood, she cried into his chest until there were no more tears to shed. The violent shudders dissolved into pitiable hiccups, and he rested his chin on her head, slipping his fingers through her hair. Legolas stroked it, let her fingers dig into his back for as long as she had the strength to hold on.

“What did you see?” he asked softly. Maybe she was a seer; maybe her dreams were truly visions. Maybe this was meant to be. “Was it the future? Did you see my Faerie? What happened?”

“You’re not hers…” she choked, a lurch jolting her body against him, another hiccup. “…You’ll never be hers.”

He grimaced, pulling away enough to look into her tear-streaked face. “What do you mean?”

The elleth dropped her eyes, sniffing, shuddering, and he wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, touching her eyes with the back of his hand. She leaned into his fingers, clung to him harder than ever, and he felt need. He felt a thousand things he couldn’t comprehend… agony, terror, helplessness.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, stroking the pendant hanging from his neck, and he looked down, watched her fingers caress his chest. She pressed herself impossibly close; even her fingers tangled in his clothes. His hands were knotted in her hair, and he didn’t even realize how their breaths mingled, hot and close…until she whispered. “Oh, gods…I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

“Don’t apologize.” He murmured, stroking his thumb across her temple. “Just tell me. Tell me what happened, kitten.”

Vigorously, she shook her head, laying her hands flat on his chest. He felt his pulse hammer against her palms. “I don’t know. I just…I just need you to smash it, destroy it _.”_

He copied her movement, but slower. “No… never. Her gift is precious. I’ll never destroy it.”

“Don’t you see?” she whispered, peering up at him, and she sniffed again. He pushed the sweaty fringe of hair from her eyes, and he felt her pounding heartbeat crushed against him ease a little, slow just enough for her lungs to rise and fall again, no longer panicked lurches. “It’s not enough. She can’t keep you safe!”

He stared, wondering what she possibly could be talking about, before her fingers reached up. They touched his face, his cheek, even his lips.

“Legolas…” she said it like a caress, a desperate plea. “…I told you there were Faerie more powerful than others. Remember?”

He nodded slowly, darting over her upturned face.

“It’s not true. Some know how to use it. Some are young; some channel it different ways. Your necklace _proves_ it! It protects you; don’t you see? The Faerie who came to you…she _wants_ to protect you. I…I saw it in my vision. She has the power somewhere. She just needs more time, time we don’t have!” She said quickly, almost desperately. “It’s just not enough. If you have all of it, all the power she tried to give you, with her dying breath I _swear_ she’ll give it to you! It might, just might be enough.”

“Elleth,” he whispered, quiet and serious. “I will not call you insane. I will not even call you wrong. I have seen things that…I’d never have believed a century before. It _is_ possible you’ve seen this, but you’re wrong about me. I’ll never let anyone harm this gift, especially now, and I will never let the beautiful spirit who gave it, die for me.”

She looked up at him, the pleading in her eyes slowly abating, and she whispered, aghast. “She was…beautiful?”

He smiled gently, stroking her hair and wondering if the little elleth was jealous. She shouldn’t be. How could she compare herself to an ethereal being? Legolas leaned in, relishing the memory as foggy as it was. He pressed his lips against her forehead, sighing. “More beautiful than you could imagine, kitten.”

Slowly, very slowly, he pulled away, untwining her hands from around his back. He held her away, gripping her shoulders and staring deep into her eyes.

“I will find her, elleth. And so help me, I’ll not let anyone hurt her….even you.”

It was both a warning and a comfort, because he realized the panic in her eyes was worry. Somehow, in her vision, she realized something…or someone…meant him harm. She wanted to protect him from it, one way or another. How could he hate her for that?

“But Legolas…” she pleaded, and he cut her off, placing a hand over her lips.

“We’ll find a way.” Legolas said slowly. “You, me, Gimli…we’ll find a way. Perhaps even with careful words and a smooth smile, my father will help, willingly or not.” He touched her face, half-laughing. “There are always choices _, melonamin,_ always.”

She swallowed hard, looking at him seriously and shakily, and she dropped her eyes. “Maybe…” she whispered. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Of course I am right.” He smirked a little, fully intent on getting the details of this dream she had. But he would do it later. She was still shaking, trembling under his fingers, and it could wait. “Now come,” Legolas murmured, “it is time you rested again. You look more worn than when you left us.”

She shook her head. “I-I can’t. The dreams, they might come back.”

He sighed. “Then what do you plan to do?”

“Stay with you.” She answered adamantly, and as if to prove it, she sidled up next to him. Her arm slipped around his waist and she pressed her side against his, hiding her face under his chin. “Your necklace keeps them away. I found that out, too. They can’t touch me when I’m with you.”

“Well, that would be interesting.” He commented, looking down at her. “But you cannot exactly go without rest. You have to sleep sometime.”

“I’m _not_ going to sleep.”

“Yes, you are.” He ordered firmly, extracting himself. The girl just shook her head.

“I’m not!”

“You are.” Legolas sighed, picking his bow off the ground. “Havnon is covering my watch for me. It is still my shift, and you are not about to wander the woods with me. I must stay alert and without distraction in these dark places.”

She looked at him as if he’d shoved her away. But a prince assigned no job that he wouldn’t do himself. Besides, he had much to think about, questions to ask. They wouldn’t be answered of course, but there was something disturbing in this talk of the girl’s dreams. He had to consider them…

And then, a wash of guilt set in and she looked down, chin quivering, mouth set tight. She just stood there, head hanging so her damp hair fell in tangled knots around her face. Legolas was about to walk away. He _should_ have…but he didn’t quite make it.

“Ah...all right,” he gave in finally, turning back and eyeing her sidelong. What else could he do? “I will come back when it is Andaer’s turn for watch.”

“And stay with me?” she looked up, and to his surprise, there was just as much suspicion as misery in her voice.

“Stay…near.”

“ _With_ me!” She protested.

“I can hardly do that, with the company just outside.” he gestured, and despite the unease in his stomach from the strange revelations, he nearly laughed. “What do you _expect_ me to do?”

“Stay with me.” She whispered.

“How can I? All the rest of the camp would see.”

She shifted once, under his expectant gaze, before dropping her eyes and muttering. “…And I thought _woodelves_ were supposed to be such cunning warriors...”

“We-” he broke off, sighing in defeat. “Oh, all right! Very well. When my shift is ended, I will come to you and make sure the dreams don’t come back, _if_ you return to your tent now. I’ll wake you if they return. Agreed?”

Before his eyes, she looked up and grinned, rubbing her eyes and violently swiping the last of the tears from her face. “I’ll know if you don’t, so don’t try anything.”

“I wouldn’t think of it.” he rolled his eyes, before reaching out. Legolas walked back to the clearing a little hurriedly, pulling her along with him. She didn’t mind.

Back near the embers of the fire, she whispered a goodnight to him as she crawled into the tent. It was little more than a blanket draped over a pole, huddled in the dark shape of a triangle.

“Losta vae.” He murmured softly, watching her go…

Suddenly, her head popped out and she pointed at him. “When your shift is over...?”

“I promise.”

She smiled slightly, before disappearing again.

When the girl was gone, Legolas sighed, glancing away and scanning the silent forest. Not a breath of moonlight stole through the branches here, utter darkness, but he saw through it to every leaf, every twig in the brush.

What was he supposed to be thinking? Maybe there wasn’t anything to think about. Maybe he was making too much out of all this. And maybe, just maybe, he was mad after all.

_Did the little elleth actually have murderous intent to his Faerie?_ He wondered. Or was she just panicked, terrified by confusing, maybe imaginary images? And that was another thing that he couldn’t quite grasp…walking slowly through the woods to his post again. _Was she really gifted, like the Lady Galadriel or the Lord of Imladris?_ Or were the dreams that terrified her so much, just that…dreams?

Legolas sighed. He didn’t know. It didn’t matter though. They didn’t change anything. He would find the spirit who came to him, one way or another, and it seemed the girl was still willing to help him. _Maybe it was just for his pendant_ …he thought wryly, if it really did keep the dreams away. It was the least he could do for her, after all.

Still, her request made him uneasy.

_Oh well…_ What’s the worst that could happen? An elf, not quite deep enough in the waking dreams of their kind, spying him slipping in and out of the girl’s tent? _Was that so terrible?_ Legolas shuddered. Yes. The rumors were already scandalous. All he needed was a whisper of the crown prince bedding a young elleth to spread through the kingdom. He’d never hear the end of it from Gimli. It would give his father perfect reason to forbid him company with the girl.

No, Legolas decided. He would be discreet about it. After all, he’d snuck in and out of his own room often enough as an elfling. He could do it now.

“I am back.” He murmured to the elf, resting in a tree branch and keeping his post. “Many thanks, Havnon.”

“Of course, my prince.”

And so, when the moon was at its peak, shining bright and full in the midnight sky, Legolas’s turn was over and he stole back through the camp. Andaer took his place, disappearing into the night, and when Legolas was sure he was gone and Havnon was resting comfortably…Legolas slipped in through the back of the tent, near the woods.

Some of their group preferred the night sky as a ceiling; some brought them in case the Lorien elves were squeamish about it. But secretly, Legolas suspected the she-elf was only afraid the dreams would strike and they’d disturb the others. Thus, privacy.

It was pitiable, he thought as he let the flap fall partially closed behind him. Despite the protesting though, Legolas found the elleth drifting to sleep when he arrived. He felt the dull, foggy sensations at the borders of her mind. He was strangely unable to feel her _fea_ still, but he could deal with that _._

“You kept your promise…” she mumbled sleepily, on her side without a pillow.

Legolas lay down, before slowly sliding up behind. He lifted the blanket, slipping beneath. In the cool air outside, drifting through the tent flap, the warmth was tangible.

“I always keep my promises.” Legolas whispered, resting on one arm with his face in its hand. He watched her doze, slipping in and out of a peaceful sleep. “You should know that, by now.”

“You,” she paused groggily, rubbing her face for warmth into the blanket beneath them. “…you never gave me a name.”

He smiled slightly. “Worry not. I’ll think of one. These things take time.”

“Is it at all frustrating,” she asked as if she didn’t expect it was. “…not having a name for me?”

“Yes.” He admitted.

Her lips pulled a little, just enough to stay up in a tiny smile. She slipped further, and Legolas carefully eased his arm under her head, pillowing the side of her face with it. It looked terribly awkward, craning her neck over like that.

“Legolas...”

He sighed, feeling his heartbeat settle, the world dim into a semi-aware state. It blurred around the edges, just enough to let him focus his mind and rest his body. Sleep, for him, was a respite falling rapidly. “Hmm?”

“Do you hate me…for wanting to kill your Faerie?”

A long pause dripped into silence. Legolas wondered if she wasn’t as close to sleep as he thought…or was the question a deeply rooted one, subconsciously wanting to be answered. Maybe it came out when she was too exhausted to stop.

“I…don’t hate you, little one.” He whispered.

The thought was strangely unsettling. How could she think that? For that matter, how could she think of killing his Faerie?

“That’s what Tamling calls me.” She smiled sleepily, shifting a little so she could curl her fingers around his fist. It snuggled her back against his chest, and he looked down, studying every curve and line of her face in the dark, watching every hair whisper in the faint breeze. The way her nose turned up at the tip, how her lips parted and closed in her sleep, like she was trying to whisper something and just couldn’t find the words.

“Who is Tamling?” he asked curiously.

And then, he realized it was too late. Only a gentle snore answered him. She was already deep in the dreamless world of sleep. A peaceful one…he hoped.

And so, when somewhere in the night a wolf howled, lonely and forgotten, Legolas sighed, resting back again with the side of his face under hers. He drew her tighter almost unconsciously. Maybe he noticed it just in his sleep, but his jaw fit perfectly against her neck, in the tangle of hair that he brushed aside, and their breathing matched. He never noticed how smooth her skin was before, how her shape was perfect for sliding inside his…and he pushed the thought away.

It was bad enough that he was here at all.

 

 

Legolas worked with a feeling of foreboding.

Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the way his nerves were strung tight like bowstrings. It was high noon, past meal time and the winter leaves shook in the brisk wind. It was late in the year for this kind of cold.

“Andaer…” He said in a low voice. The captain looked up, and Legolas glanced to the guard swinging aboard his mount. The horses too, were uneasy, snorting and stamping impatiently. Gusts of vapor steamed from their nostrils. “Stay vigilante.”

“I feel it too.” He murmured.

The Faerie’s pendant on his chest burned hot, and it couldn’t be the girl. She was nowhere near. It glowed faintly under his shirt, and his mind kept hurtling back to the sword of the hobbit Frodo. It glowed blue when goblin or yrch were near. Could it be likewise enchanted?

The further they journeyed, the darker the trees became. They whispered of danger, warning, and Legolas heeded the call. He kept his bow ready, an additional blade strapped to his belt in easy reach. They couldn’t do anything but move forward though. The Lorien elves would be at the borders in a day or two.

“Elleth.” He rode up beside Gimli. She walked on the other side of Arod, dark cloak enveloping her and in the chill, a hood partially drawn. Legolas lowered a hand. “It would be best if you rode with me.”

She shook her head quickly. “I…don’t think so.”

“Elleth, please.” Legolas beckoned, nudging Arod forward to block the path. “Do you not feel the darkness in the trees?”

“I’ll be all right. I’m tired of riding that horse.” She threw a pained glance.

“You are safer with me.” He protested, but he could tell she wouldn’t be moved. She dove under the horse’s head and hurried on.

“No, thank you.”

Gimli laughed, walking his axe. “Good lass! You have a head on your shoulders.”

Legolas could only sigh. What else could he do?

“Then at least take this.” He moved Arod up beside, offering the woman a small, but razor-sharp dagger. “You might need it.”

“Knives don’t like me.” She looked over warily, but at his insistence, took it and tucked it into her belt. The cloak fell back over the carved handle, concealing it.

Legolas wanted to rest easier, but he couldn’t. He pulled the chain out from under his clothes, letting the moon shaped pendant rest on his chest. It was uncomfortably hot, and it was growing worse.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, squinting up at him. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon, or at least it seemed that way. The sunlight was fading, and the limbs were looking more like clawing fingers.

“This.” He fingered the stone, tense in the stride of the horse, and he muttered quietly. “It tries to tell me something.”

She looked curious. “Tell? Tell what?”

“Danger.” He murmured, without knowing why.

Gimli snorted. “I wouldn’t know. These trees of yours always give me the willies.”

“It would be wise to heed them, my friend.” Legolas warned. And suddenly, the pound of hooves shook the air and he looked up. A scout rode hard across country, a black steed, and he leapt off a rise. The stallion landed on the trail and squealed, kicking up leaves.

“My lord!” The elf jumped off, breathless. “A band of spider _soa_ , on their way! They’re right behind me.”

“Have they caught our scent?” Andaer snapped.

“They were coming full speed. I’m not sure! I couldn’t alter their course, my lord. They’re coming too fast.”

And then, a rustling in the distant trees….Legolas looked up. It was already too late. They were coming!

“A’ ranqui!” He shouted, and he leapt off Arod. With a grimace, Legolas pulled the flashing blades off his back.

At first, it looked like they made to run past, scrambling through the branches and black, hairy bodies running along the ground at a furious pace. But the first arrow shot a spider head through the eye, and with an angry scream, they attacked.

Legolas leapt into the trees, bow on his back, and he ran up spiraling limbs. There was an entire drove, thirty at least. He gathered momentum, running full-tilt to the black head aimed for him, eight eyes blinking. It prepared to catch him in the chattering, gnashing fangs dripping with venom, but Legolas skidded to the bark and landed on his back, sliding beneath and driving his knife down the underbelly. Juice and organs spilled and the spider catapulted into open air, but Legolas was already on his feet again, blade singing.

Half the elves’ troops were on the ground, the rest in the branches, and it seemed like with every one he slaughtered, two more appeared. The trees were on his side though. Wherever he leapt, there was a sturdy branch waiting. Gimli yelled a throaty war cry, axe swinging, and sounds of death followed.

Suddenly, someone shouted. “Andaer!”

Legolas whirled around and caught a glimpse of chestnut hair on the ground, fighting off two of them. But a spider was scrambling down at him from above. Legolas took a sharp breath, before jumping from the leaves and onto the hairy abdomen of the nearest creature, staggering with the jolt of impact, before leaping off, moving to head her off.

The thing kept coming.

Suddenly, Legolas yanked the bow from his back, drawing an arrow in one fluid movement. He pulled back violently and released. Fletching plunged through the mouth and venom flew. The first was coming down from above. He drew another arrow from his back, and with no time, he threw the bullhead through the sensitive flesh joining the monster’s head and abdomen.

It screamed and slipped off the branch, hairy legs flailing, and before he could stop it, Legolas backed up an instant too late to avoid a hard bash. One of the scrambling legs caught him and threw him backward. In the same instant, his pendant dropped out and the chain caught on the spider’s hind leg. The clasp snapped free and Legolas nearly swore, but the lurch pulled him off the branch, and with the spider clawing desperately for a hold, yanked them off into mid-air.

A hard smash hit his face and he scrambled out of a breaking tangle of leaves, falling, hitting every branch on the way down. The spider hissed and grabbed for him, but it was too late. The heavy body smashed every limb into shards, plummeting earthward.

And suddenly, Legolas landed. A grunt of pain escaped him and he pushed out of the leaves, panting, black blood covering his hands. His vision spun and on his right side, the fierce pain of a broken bone shot up his spine. With Eru’s mercy, the rib was only cracked. _Gods,_ it hurt...

Suddenly, he winced, feeling at his neck, scanning the ground. The pendant was gone!

“Pretty…” a voice hissed, and he whirled around, hair flying. A smaller spider, pale with a row of red, blinking eyes stabbed at a chain in the leaves. Legolas lurched upright, far away from the clearing by now, and he was weaponless besides the knife in his belt. His ribs flared up in protest, but he pushed it down.

“Get off and I’ll let you live!” he shouted just as the pendant caught on the spider’s limb. The monster had it.

“ _Mine_!” It spat and scrambled backward.

Legolas grimaced and pushed off the ground. The spider was too slow to stop him.

Taking the last reserves of strength, he yanked the blade out of his belt and shoved aside the sharp, throbbing pain of his fall. The cracked rib wasn’t so easily silenced. Legolas cursed himself for letting it distract him, but he’d be dammed if he let that filth have his prize.

He was all elven grace and fury, and he chased it down, shooting over the rough terrain. Legolas ran through the branches to cut the escaping spider off, and he fought fiercely. It tried to get away, pendant dangling from an arched limb of the white leg, and he whirled around to hack it free. A harsh shriek of pain came out, and Legolas leapt into the air, catching the necklace as it fell.

One of its companions answered the call though, and the instant Legolas slashed the face of the albino monster, another was already diving for him and he tossed the pendant into the leaves.

This one was larger, faster, beady eyes blinking furiously and drool spilling from her mouth. It came up behind and he flipped backward, using a branch as leverage, before suddenly…he gasped and stumbled. The pain in his chest made him double over, a choked off cry in his throat…and just when his nerves screamed and he realized a blow to his back was coming, a flash of light blinded him.

Dirt slammed into his body and Legolas flew to the ground. The world spun out of control, and for a single instant, Legolas’s senses were dazed. His ears rang white and buzzed...

Slowly, he looked up, squinting into sunlight. He was on the ground and the spiny leg lifted over him, about to strike, wasn’t there anymore. A warm flicker of familiarity washed over him, filled his senses, and he turned his head, wincing, breathing hard…

The spider’s pieces were on the ground. A hard body twitched across the clearing in a bed of wet matted leaves. Legs scattered the floor. Black blood dripped from the leaves as if the monster had exploded before his very eyes. His breath caught a long instant, slowly sitting up on his arms…before Legolas opened his fingers.

A crescent moon pendant, glittering blue stone glowed faintly in his palm. It was hot still, slowly fading. He felt the warm brush of familiarity again, and this time, he concentrated, letting it touch him freely. There was a bath of sensations that weren’t his…sadness, longing, love. Somewhere deep within, a fierce protectiveness swelled to the surface, and he wasn’t sure if it was hers or his own. Even now, when she was gone and for all that he wanted to, Legolas couldn’t find her…the spirit protected him.

“Gods…” he whispered, squinting, staring at it. It wouldn’t have been a death blow, but with the pain in his ribs, it could have crippled him. He’d have had to fight the thing off from the ground. “…thank you.” He murmured, stroking its face with a thumb, before suddenly, the pendant flared to life again. As if in response, an echoing shout rang through the trees, and he snapped his head up.

“Legolas!”

The pain eased in his chest and he leapt to his feet. The spiders were still attacking! Legolas broke into a run, taking the lost blades with him. He could see a flash of fiery red beard in the clearing; bodies littered the ground around him. The dwarf was splattered in blood, but not his own.

“Gimli!” Legolas broke through the tree line, clapping a hand to his ribs where a shot of agony pierced him. “Where’s the girl?”

“She took to the trees!” he shouted, before bringing the axe down. It cleaved a spider skull in two.

 

**************************************************

“Augh!” I cough out.

A hissing head fizzles out a last, guttural whine. Why didn’t I ask Legolas for a longer sword?! I can’t help him. I feel the danger he’s in, a scream at me from nowhere, maybe from my charmed bracelet. But I can’t even move!

I stare up into the gaping maw of a dying spider, shuddering, twisting my hands and lying flat on my back. My knife shoves in deeper and I grimace, fangs so close I feel the venom dripping down my wrists. The blade is plunged through the roof of her mouth, a last ditch attempt at keeping this body intact.

“Just die already!” I hiss, sweat running in my eyes and the blood from her mouth splattering my face. I wince, coughing at the stench, and with a last whine, the spider lurches and falls limp on top of me. That was a mistake.

“Gimli!” I shout, gasping under the massive weight. I’ve watched the elves slaughter these creatures for years! They never seemed so…enormous.

“Are ye all right, lass?” He swings around and sends the head of an attacking beast flying, bloody axe whistling in the cold air.

“Get this thing off me!” I shove and squirm out half way, but my legs are pinned. He laughs, and when a break comes through, he appears and with a great heave, shoves the limp body off. More spiders pour in from the trees on the other side, but he has time to reach down and pull me to my feet.

“You think _those_ things are heavy.” He grunts at my gasp for clear air, whirling around again, axe ready. “You should try a warg or two!”

I hit myself off, scrubbing the blood off my face, and I laugh, grabbing my knife again. “On the plains of Rohan?” I remember.

“Aye, lass!” he hurls the blade end around and slashes four legs out from under one. It slams into the dirt and rolls over, flailing. “Legolas told ye about that?”

Thankfully…or not, I don’t have to answer.

The black, hard body of an abdomen hurtles into me. I fly back and slam into a tree trunk, ears ringing, dazed. I cough the blood out of my mouth and dig through the leaves for my knife. Elves and spiders fill the tree branches, battling for the clearing. I lose track of Gimli, and I can’t look away to search. I wipe the bruised, bleeding cut on my mouth instead. _What happened to…_

Suddenly, I look up. A dark, two piece body drops into the leaves right in front of me, jarring the ground, and I freeze. Eight eyes blink in unison.

“Get back!” I rasp, scrambling away and brandishing the hand sized dagger in my fist. It’s pathetic, I realize, looking at, especially since I know how to use _swords_ now! Why…oh _why_ didn’t I just ask for one?

“Look here!” It...it speaks?

I gasp, unable to believe it. Tripping and stumbling once, I get to my feet and back up, one foot behind the other. It lurches after me, and I look around desperately, the dark of forest closing in. The thing keeps crawling forward, staring at my hand as I move it, and the light of the clearing begins to disappear.

“What have we here?” Her fangs open, clicking together once, and I stare wide-eyed. She’s salivating. “Something _special…_ ” she draws the word out, like a delicious smell.

“Get away from me.” I lift my chin, holding the knife in both hands, before the row of eyes blink again. They flick to my wrist, pupils widening as the light fades, and the whites appear on one side as they turn. And then I realize. She wants my bracelet; she can feel it.

“You want this?” I nod slowly, flicking from her slowly approaching legs and the chain around my wrist. “Well, you can’t have it!” I growl, before hurling the knife. It slams into her face and she squeals in pain, scrambling back and shaking her head. I curse myself…Now I don’t have a weapon!

There’s only one choice left, and I take it: run.

“You won’t essscape!”

There’s no trail. I can’t see. Ruts and stones seem to shoot up out of the earth, trying to trip me, pull me down just long enough for the black shadow pounding through the dark trees to grab my legs. But a sure force is on my side. Fear.

I leap over a branch in my way, trying to climb through a tangled net of leaves. I run like I’ve never run before. She’s gaining fast though. I can hear it, feel it in every screaming nerve, see it as I whip my head around desperately. I don’t know how long I run; it feels like miles.

Suddenly, a massive tree trunk fills the space ahead and I dive. A gap just big enough to squeeze through climbs down through the roots, clear through to the other side. I crawl on my belly, desperately scrambling through with my arms and the wet dirt as leverage.

There’s light at the end. I reach toward it before…

“There’s one!”

Suddenly, I freeze and gasp, breaking through the other side. Instantly, I look up. Just below is…a camp? Ten, maybe fifteen men in sleeveless, leather vests stand around, weapons ready. _What are they doing here?_ Are we really that near the borders?

“Get ready!”

Suddenly, the spider crashes through the woods and breaks into the clearing. She doesn’t even notice the men. She leaps to the trunk that I hide under, crawling around the side, before leaping to the ground again. I scramble back, pushing on the dirt, and her massive body blocks the light. I try to brace on my arms, scrambling back into the hole again, and her legs claw at the trunk, ripping away bark, wood, and dirt. She’s getting closer…and suddenly, my boot catches. I can’t move.

“Get her, boys!”

Fangs sink into my shoulder and I shout out in pain. The spider manages to break the tangled roots away, enough to pin me down, and I scream again. The spines and hair of her face fill the space and the teeth bite down harder, tearing muscle. I’ve never felt physical pain…not like this. I can’t get away. Venom flows and the fangs touch bone. I’m pinned fast under her and I scream my throat hoarse.

And suddenly, my fighting seems to do something. A terrible hiss comes out of her mouth, and before I realize what’s happened, she’s yanked back, legs flailing. The teeth rip back out of my arm, and the men throw a net over her body. I gasp, both in agony and shock, blood rushing to my head. The men are surrounding her, leaping on the ropes, trying to tie it down.

_Are they mad?_

“Get her back!” One shouts, jabbing at her face, and something invisible repels her. She whines and turns away, but they surround her, keeping her down. And then, when she’s nearly completely tied down under the ropes, my view is cut off with the shadow of a man blocking the light.

I look up, eyes wide, staring in shock and terror at the dead-weight feeling rushing through my limbs. His half-bearded face lifts into a grin. He’s climbed up the tree roots and stands at the mouth of the gap.

“Eh, boss…it’s an _elf_! _”_ He leans over, green eyes peering closer, and I shove backward as far as I can, panting. I clutch my bleeding shoulder, trying so hard not to let tears fall, a whimper escapes my teeth. “And she’s a pretty one!” he shouts over his shoulder with glee.

Sweet Eru…They’re slavers. They must be! I’m not sure what they want with the spider, but a sinking pit hits my stomach. It sickens me nearly as much as the throb pulsing through my shoulder. I can’t see, can’t think. I’m dizzy.

“Come on.” He beckons, reaching down, and I shake my head, pressing myself back. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.” He assures me, and I blink, adjusting to the shadow he throws over my face. He’s young, early twenties maybe, the dark shaggy hair in his eyes ruffling in the breeze. I can just make it out.

“Get away from me.” I rasp, coughing, and I look at my hand. Blood spatters my palm.

“She won’t come out!” he shouts, never looking away, and I stare down, gasping for air. My throat has begun to choke off; I can’t breathe. Weakness is washing over me. I feel it. The venom is pumping through my system already.

And suddenly, I freeze... The man turns around, just as a glimpse of pale blonde drops from the trees. Legolas!

He’s running full speed, knives flashing and in a blur of movement, he leaps from the ground and lands on the spider chained to the ground. She screams and fights, but he balances an instant, spinning his knife. The men are shouting and swearing; I’m not sure why. The elf ignores them though, plunging straight through her twisting neck and into the dirt.

Even her thrashing subsides, twitching and slowly sinking…the men unsheathe swords. Legolas looks up, balancing on the shuddering, fighting body, before leaping to the ground and yanking his knife free. The instant he lands, the slavers are on him.

“Legolas!” I choke, scrambling forward. I don’t make it. _What are they doing?_ The man reaches out and pulls me back. And suddenly, the change in elevation blurs the trees into a sickening mass of color. My vision reels. I can’t see straight.

“Oh, you made a mistake right there, elf!” One of them shouts, the leader I think, folding his arms and looking on, before glancing upward. He meets my dizzy eyes, smirking slightly. The rest leap forward and Legolas back steps, fighting double handed. I can’t do anything but watch in horror. They’re too many!

“Keep him there, boys.” The man shouts, before lifting a hand. A command I don’t see sends the arms around me dragging us both into the clearing.

“Tie her up.” He barks. “Throw her in the back.”

The man holding me freezes. “ _Her_ , Rent? I…I thought we were after spider!”

“And look what happened! We’d better bring something back, or Interen will have our heads.” Rent spits, snapping his gaze between the fighting elf and me. “Hurry up!”

No! I scramble out of his arms desperately, but it’s a losing fight. The venom is travelling faster. I trip and slam into the ashes of a smoking fire, gasping, the dirt swimming into a river. My stomach lurches and reels…The world goes black. All I feel is mind-numbing pain, darkness. The last I hear is the clash of swords and shouting, dying men.

 

 

***************************************

“Elf!”

Legolas looked up, shoving one of his attackers off violently.

“Hold up, boys!” the man shouted, Rent. Two were on the forest floor, dead. Another sagged against a tree, bleeding profusely. Legolas looked over again, panting and shuddering. His bloody blades dripped.

Rent, he heard, was crouched on the forest floor suddenly, a younger one beside him. The sky was torn by thunderheads rolling and coiling on the horizon, and the sun hid its face. Legolas focused, staggering a half-step back. The man’s arm was filled with the Lorien elf, unconscious in the dead embers of a fire. Rent stared at Legolas with dark, small eyes and a tiny smile. They were narrowed, unshaven jaw twisted in a fierce scowl, and too far away to get to.

“I’m gonna assume elf,” he warned. “that you don’t want this woman dead…?” He clutched a razor sharp knife to her throat, digging into the soft flesh.

Legolas didn’t answer, breathing hard, furious. How dare they? Within his own borders, much less? What were they thinking?

“Maybe he don’t speak.” The younger one whispered as he didn’t reply.

Rent narrowed his eyes, before speaking louder and slower. He must have thought he was deaf, too. “Do you understand me, elf?”

“I understand you.” He growled in accented Westron.

“I’m gonna only say this once.” Rent readjusted his grip, pressing the knife so close, blood oozed from her throat. Legolas refused to flinch. “You drop your weapons, back off, and let my men tie you up with no trouble…or I kill her now. Simple as that.”

“I know what you are, filth. You think I would leave her here with _you_?”

Rent gripped tighter, wrenching her chin back. “I wasn’t plannen’ to serve her dead, elf, but I will. She’s not worth more to me than _I_ am!”

“You will not escape, human scum, and you will pay dearly for this.” Legolas hissed. He’d spent months fighting for these men so they would be free of oppression. He’d risked his life constantly, and this was his thanks?

And suddenly, the man shrugged. He pulled the knife away a fraction, swiveling it in his grip just enough to plunge the knife into her bared throat…and Legolas jumped.

“No!” Legolas shouted, gripping his knives in a white-knuckled grip. The man paused, glancing up at him, and he hissed in frustration, throwing them away. They clattered uselessly into the leaves. “All right…do not touch her.”

“Tie him up.” Rent nodded to the trees. “Hurry up.”

“Wait!” Legolas thought fast, backing away, flexing his fists. It was an impossible, angering situation, but not unfixable. “No…Take me instead.” He looked around, ignoring the pang in his ribs. “You will fetch the same price for me. Leave her here.”

Rent thought about it, hauling the limp girl to her knees, before smirking. “Why you, when I can have an unconscious female? _”_ he asked.

The man was not stupid, Legolas glowered, but he was a fool. He was overconfident. He thought he could actually keep an elf imprisoned long enough to make it out of the borders. It would be his downfall.

“…a female who won’t fight back, that is _?_ Besides,” he added. “…my lord will find _plenty_ of uses for this little girl. “

A ripple of chuckles coursed through the men at that. Visions of tearing the man’s head off, killing him slowly with a knife flew through Legolas’s mind. The filth hefted her up, an arm around her waist, and the other stroked her neck. She was better dead than with them.

“Then…take me as well.” Legolas said quickly, quietly. He kept it down. “Two are better than one. Double the merchandise, double the price. Any businessman knows this.”

The man narrowed his eyes, and Legolas shifted forward, reaching for her. He stopped only when the slavers blocked him. --! He would deal with these men in one swift blow if it weren’t for her. He needed time. She had to wake up, to fight or flee.

“Look, she is wounded!” Legolas lifted a hand, angry. “She’s _dying_.” He had no idea if it was true or not, but neither did they. “You’ll have _nothing_ when she is gone, not without me.”

“Why would you do that?” Rent was obviously weighing the gain and the potential risk.

“She is…” he panted, staring at her bloodied face. “...my friend.”

A moment passed. Rent thought about it, pursing his lips, flicking to his men. There were too many; twenty here, at least. And suddenly, without warning, a whoop out of one of them decided.

“Double the pay! Think of what we can do with that.”

“Hm…all right.” He reluctantly agreed, letting the elf forward.

Legolas crossed the clearing in relief, despite the bows drawn and aimed for him, and he pulled the Lorien elf out of the embers, disappointed he didn’t have to push the man aside. He stroked her face, examining her closed eyes, and he felt her neck. Blood pulsed up her throat steady and warm, but faint, and he picked her up, wincing only once at the flare of pain.

“Just don’t you try anything, elf.” Rent warned, backing away. “We’re getting out of here, and if you try and lead your elf friends to us, just remember what I said.”

He snapped his fingers, signaling the men with rope.

Legolas had no choice but to pass the elleth’s limp body to the man who stood behind him. He was the same one who brought her down. Legolas narrowed his eyes, and if the look was interpreted correctly, ‘ _Hurt her, and I swear I’ll kill you, scum’…_ the man understood and nodded slightly, taking her.

“Come on, boys. Let’s get out of here!”

Legolas’s hands were tied roughly behind his back. He just glared, refusing to flinch again.

What else could he do? It happened too quickly. There was nothing, no other choice to turn to. If he stayed behind, they could take her on the river and he’d lose the trail. She could be sold to whichever lord this filth was working for. He wouldn’t let that happen. His company would just have to find them.

And then a small, grim thought made Legolas smile, sick. At least he now had a name for the girl.

 

 

 

_melonamin – my friend_

_fea - spirit_

_Losta vae – Sleep well_

_a’ ranqui To arms!_

 

 

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_Author’s Note: Thanks for reading chapter eleven. Be sure to review, please! I’d love to know what you think. Legolas names his Faerie next chapter. Have a wonderful day readers.-)_

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	12. Chapter 12

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Legolas opened his eyes to the jostle of wagon wheels on rough trail.

Light streamed in his eyes and he squinted, before trees blocked the sky again. Legolas was tired, exhausted even, but he couldn’t rest. A lock and door caged him in. Outside, the sun faintly lit the dusky corners of their prison on wheels. He stared at the unconscious body crumpled on the floor, shivering, sweating and bleeding…

There was nothing he could do for her. Legolas wasn’t a healer. He had the most basic knowledge of battlefield medicine...but spider venom? What could he do? Legolas cursed himself.

Nothing.

How had they ended up in this predicament? Prisoners to slavers? It was unheard of, maddening. He should be better than this. He’d waged wars all across Arda, victorious again and again against impossible odds. Yet this was different. Then, he could have lived or died. Elbereth’s will be done. Either would serve the greater cause. But he had something to protect now, something he failed.

He looked at her, knees lifted part way to his chest, his arms atop. She was turning every color but what she should be. At least in sleep though, she was silent. The sound of her screams haunted him. They echoed in his ears, ate at him like guilt. He remembered how they drifted through the trees as he ran...shrieks of pain. He wasn’t there. He didn’t stop it. Even now, he sat here useless, unable to think of anything to do, say, even think.

And suddenly, a bounce in the road jolted her awake. Legolas flinched, holding his right side. The rib still hadn’t mended, and worse, he felt his accelerated elven healing taking place. It was sealing itself crooked.

 

“L-legolas...?”

He snapped his head up, dragging himself out of the self-deprecating thoughts. Her eyes were cracked open, foggy and unfocused. Black blood saturated the dark leather around her shoulder where it wasn’t torn, staining her skin, and she cradled it with her body. Legolas hadn’t dared move the elleth since the slavers tossed her in, afraid of injuring her more.

“Yes…” He looked at her through his knees. “I am here.”

“I,” she coughed, trying to get up as a flood of memories came crashing back. But at the next bump, she slammed back again. Legolas winced. But he kept his hands to himself. “The slavers, they… W-what happened?”

“They have us, for now.” He muttered.

“I’m sorry. I… I didn’t mean to run. It just happened, and-and-”

“Ailaria!” Legolas snapped. She grimaced, shifting on the floor, before looking up at him with pained, groggy eyes. What were once blue-green jewels shining in her face, were gray and dead. It could only worsen from here. “Do not apologize.”

“A-al’ria?” she slurred, squinting. “What’s that?”

“It is the name I thought of for you…” Legolas eased back, dropping his eyes. “I will call you Aila. Do you like it?”

“Mm...” she turned over, hiding her face in her blood-stained hands, and he couldn’t make anything else out.

“Aila?” he whispered, and she didn’t answer. “Aila!” he hissed, before shooting over on his hands and knees. He kept a palm flat on his ribs to ease the stinging pain, before pushing her over carefully, searching her closed eyes. “Listen to me. You must stay awake now.”

Nothing.

“Elleth...wake up.” he slapped her face, gently at first, and then harder. She flinched under his strike.

“D-don’t hit me.” she whispered.

“Then stay awake!” Legolas drew back, before leaning down, placing his hands on the floor. He kept her head between them. “You must rest now, but do _not_ sleep. I am not a healer, but I know this. Do you understand me? Aila...?”

Her eyes cracked open, pained, yet smiling at him. It was a queer kind of smirk, jostling gently on the trail like a grimace, and she shivered. “Yes s-sir.”

“Good.” Legolas’s breathing slowed and he forced himself to calm, before sliding down beside. He folded his legs.

“We are near the borders.” Legolas said quietly, hoping she understood his words. She just curled and uncurled her fingers, panting, huddled on the hard floor. “The slaver scum refuse to heed my warnings. They believe they’ll escape alive.”

He was about to tell her their predicament then, how he planned to escape this situation as soon as she was strong enough and their captors were distracted, keep her thinking. But he didn’t make it. Somehow, she found a push of strength, enough to lift her head into his lap. The loose hair spilling over his legs was tangled in blood and leaves.

“Aila...” he began.

“W-why Aila?”

He blinked.

“Why Aila?” she choked in a short, ragged burst. Her hands groped for his until she found what she wanted, despite his fingers trying to slip out. She looked up at him and crushed a fist against her throat, trying to breathe easier.

“I...chose it because it means ‘Ember’ in the common tongue.” he explained, before hesitantly, he touched a lock of auburn-brown hair, feeling its fiber. Even now, ash clung to the trailing ends... “…For I drew you from the glowing embers of fire.” he said softer.

“I-I don’t like it.” she said, pulling his hand down to cup her face, holding it in his lap as their prison dragged up a hill. “I don’t want you to r-remember me dead.”

Legolas blinked, aghast. “Why would you say such a thing?”

“Because it’s true.”

“It is _not_ true. Do not speak to me of such things.”

“But it’s going to happen. This p-place was meant to keep a _spider_ inside. We’re not g-gonna get out. When everything’s gone, when everything’s all right again,” she rambled, clinging to his fingers, “...if you ever think about me again, I-I just don’t want you to think of me like this.”

“We are escaping this alive, Aila, _both_ of us.” Legolas frowned, shifting to lift one knee to his chest, her head on his thigh. He looked away. “Do not be so melodramatic.”

“ _Me_? M-melo-” she didn’t finish. The laugh came out strangled, and suddenly, a bump in the road upset her rhythmic panting, and it broke into coughs. She gasped for air, choking. She couldn’t breathe. Legolas just froze, racing through his head, through all the years for something to help. The poison travelled so quickly! _What was he to do?_ And then, she clawed at him when she could take in air again, trying to tell him something.

“L-legolas! I have to-”

“It can wait.” He shook his head, sliding a hand behind her neck to open her throat, tilting her chin back. It only helped some. “Rest, be quiet.”

“No.” she grabbed his hands and forced his head down. “L-listen to me, please listen. They want you outside the borders. Stumbling into the s-slavers’ camp wasn’t an accident! It wasn’t.”

Legolas squinted. “What are you talking about? The Faerie?”

Aila nodded vigorously. “You c-can’t leave the king’s borders. Your necklace can’t protect you there, not against all of them! You h-have to s-stay safe.”

“How could you know this?” he shook his head, pushing her hair back. “You said that my pendant kept the dreams away.”

“They _do._ ” she nearly pleaded. “I didn’t see it in a dream. I _know_ it!”

He didn’t have to ask. His expression said it all.

“Oh gods, Legolas...just trust me!” she pleaded.

“All right...What should I do?” he asked carefully, staring down into her eyes as they flashed wildly over his face.

“You have to get out of here. Escape! Don’t let them touch you.”

“What about you?”

“I’m going to die.” She rasped bluntly, choking on it, before whispering, reassuring him. “I-it’s all right. I-it has to happen.”

“What?” Legolas grimaced. How could he be hearing this? “Are you insane? I’m not _leaving_ you here. I want to hear no self-sacrificial platitudes out of you, Aila.”

“Legolas-”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. Did she really think he was just going to break out of here and run? If he was going to do that, just let her here to die alone, he would have done it hours ago! He wouldn’t have let himself be captured in the first place. “I am not leaving you here.”

“B-but-”

“Quiet!” Legolas hissed, pressing a hand over her mouth. But she couldn’t breathe already, and he quickly pulled away. “We are both escaping this, Ember.” He whispered softer. “I swear it.”

And then, she stopped talking. She just stared up at him, shivering, and he didn’t realize the tears streaming down her face. Her fingers slid up his chest, straining to reach him, and she touched his face, her bloody fingertips marking his cheek.

“I’m going to die.” She whispered softly, and Legolas shook his head. “I’m _going_ to die.” more firm this time. “Just let me!”

_Why was she doing this?_ She was an elf. Maybe not a woodelf, but good enough. His kind survived spider attacks before, so could she! _Why wasn’t she fighting it?_ Why wasn’t she trying? It was as if she _wanted_ to die, as if it could actually do some good. Eldar died when they lost the will…They _faded_. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Aila, please. Do not-”

“H-hold me.” she pressed herself against him, shivering violently, and she cut him off. “...please just hold me.”

“Aila-” Legolas began and pulled back, feeling panic rising in his chest. He tried to ease her to the floor. He wouldn’t let this happen...not again, not to her!

“ _Why_ won’t you hold me?” she interrupted, and he shook his head, staring at the blood on her face, clenched in her fist. It coated her lips where she coughed, slick with it, and he tried to wipe it away. She just stared at him, pleading.

“I...do not wish to injure you further.” Legolas whispered. _This was his fault._ He was careless. Why had he let her alone? Why had the spider chased her so far?

“Legolas-”

“Just lie still.”

She pushed on him then, all her weight. “Please!”

Legolas shot her a look, but for once, he didn’t protest. There was too much blood. It was slowing, but fluid was filling her lungs, slow and sure. He could hear it; the rasp in every gasp of air she took. If she died, it would be his fault. He would have to carry that burden, and every time he felt the sun on his face, listened to the whir of night birds or felt the grass under his feet, he would remember the life he let snuff out. He would ask forgiveness, and no one would answer.

“Come here...” he whispered.

Legolas lifted his arm and helped her up, before folding his arms around her shoulders. Aila tucked herself against his uninjured side, and to his relief, the ragged heaving of her chest eased. It slowed, tempered out, and he rested his chin on her head, staring at the slowly receding trail. At least she could breathe better, sitting up. It eased his nerves… There was nothing more he could do now.

The sun was setting past the wooded trail. It was hours since his companywas would have finished with the drove... Gimli, in all likelihood, would be shouting out curses at his illusive elvish hide. The dwarf would be blaming him for leading Ember astray.

The thought made Legolas smile.

How was this possible? It hadn’t even been a day, and yet he missed the dwarf. He missed Estel, too. A dull ache in his chest, the one he felt when he was on the road, far from the woods and missing home...It was dull and real. Worry made him silent; guilt made him feel sick. _How could have he let this happen?_ He wished he had the rock that was Gimli…the hope and the surety that was Estel.

“Talk to me.” Aila whispered, and she curled a fist against her mouth to breathe against.

Legolas sighed. How could he speak comfort when his heart was sunken? How could he fight twenty men, even mortal men, and protect her too? It was impossible. She could barely breathe. It would take one knife to her throat, and it would be her end.

“P-please stop blaming yourself.” Aila said quietly. “It’s not your fault.”

Legolas nearly laughed. She didn’t give him a chance though.

“Trust me. It’s better this way. D-don’t worry.”

“Better?” He wouldn’t let her ramble on freely. She was speaking madness, and he was angry. Angry at himself, at their ridiculous predicament and now her. He looked down. “There is a point in which optimism becomes stupidity.”

She smiled slightly, more of a grimace. “I know... And I think I’d like it if you could stop now.”

And then, Legolas realized she was right. Long before they’d set out for the war of the ring, he’d come to terms with the possibility of death. Had she done the same?

“All right, Aila.” he whispered. “You will not die here. I swear it. But if you need to prepare yourself...then do so now.”

She coughed. “Y-you’re here...that’s all I need.”

A strange thing to say. The words saddened the elf more than he expected. He barely knew her; he barely even tried. She’d been in his life just a few short weeks...and here he was losing her. Before his very eyes, her light was dimming. The blackness of death was like a shadow, lingering, crawling down on them every minute he didn’t do something.

“You…you don’t know how right this is. I just h-hope this works. Don’t worry. It’s supposed to end here.” She looked up at him, mouth clamped shut tight, and she shuddered. “I-I’d never be happy a-again, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“I…I want things I can’t have.”

“What is it you want?” he asked gently, stroking her face. “Tell me…anything.”

Ember laughed sickly. “It doesn’t matter, a-anymore. I’m just glad I could s-spend this time with you, while I can.”

Legolas shook his head slowly. “No road has an end, kitten. We will meet again, no matter what.”

“You…you’ll sail over the sea.” Aila looked up, and slowly, she brushed his chin again, the faintest touch. “I-I’ll never see you again, Thranduil’s son.”

“The Halls of Mandos harbor souls like you.” He said softly. “Those who go, simply go earlier than the rest of us. I too…someday, will pass, I think.” Legolas looked away, feeling the sea-longing even as he spoke, remembering the gulls, the anger he felt at Galadriel’s words. But he knew it was true.

“I don’t think I qualify.” She smiled slightly, resting her face on his chest again, shaking. “I-I’ve…done some things. I’m not like you, Legolas, your people. I don’t think things aren’t the same.”

“What?” Legolas shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“I think…I think I know what’s waiting for me.” Aila looked down, pressing closer to him. “It’s a blackness, nothingness, like a void… I can feel it. When you call out, there’s no one to answer, not an echo or a sigh. There aren’t any green fields there…no sun or wind. The cold is like ice, and it burns like fire. But you aren’t there to feel it. You don’t exist, a-anymore. I feel it, Legolas. I-I see it, just at the edges. I…I have to, I have to-”

“No!” Legolas didn’t know how these ideas came into her head, maybe some strange Lorien legend, but it was ridiculous. “That is _not_ the way of things, Aila, whatever you’ve learned. When…if…you cannot fight, if you pass into darkness, there is light waiting for you. Golden shores welcome you home. You don’t simply _cease_ to exist. There is no void.”

A moment passed. She fell silent, huddled under his arm. And then, “If that makes you feel better…” she whispered.

A dread fell over Legolas. There were too many memories, watching men under him die of wounds, injuries, poisons. She wasn’t trying. She was giving up…and he didn’t know why.

“Please, think Aila. If you give up now, t’will all be lost. Don’t you see?” Legolas shook his head, lifting her chin gently, brushing her face with the backs of his fingers. She was attached to him somehow; he knew it. She clung to him like a lifeline. Maybe she would listen if he said the right words…

“Aila, I could not live with myself if…if this happened.” Legolas clasped her face, staring deep into her graying eyes. “It would be my fault, and mine alone. Fight…fight this for me? Do you want to see me destroyed? Devastated?”

“I am.” Ember shuddered, and suddenly, miserable tears were in her eyes again. She struggled to look up, and he realized she was crying. They were running down her blood-stained cheeks. _What was he supposed to do?_

“ _Gods_ , Legolas…” she whimpered. “Don’t you understand? That’s what I’m doing to you! Ever since I came, my sole r-reason for _being_ here, is to destroy you! It’s you or me, Legolas…and I choose me. I won’t l-let them do it.” She pulled back, panicking. “They don’t know you like I do! They don’t care, only Tamling! I-I-I…”

And then, Aila’s breathing cut off completely. Legolas stared, a thousand thoughts racing through his head, processing what she told him, but he was too late. Her eyes rolled back in her head and closed. She collapsed in his arms, convulsing, and just as he lurched upright, scrambling to get her on her back…a shout rang through the woods.

“Attack! Attack!”

 

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	13. Prince Legolas, I Presume?

**A/N: So for all you movie-verse fans, you may not approve, but I never liked that Peter Jackson killed Haldir in Helm’s Deep. Admittedly, it showed the sacrifice and war’s death toll very well in the movie, but I’m going with Tolkien in this story. I’ve also decided that since Haldir was a Marchwarden of Lothlorien, he would also be one of Lord Celeborn’s most trusted guard. That’s why he accompanies Celeborn as he travels to Mirkwood for the foreign relations with Thranduil. The book never specifically said so, but I guess that’s literary license. Hope you don’t mind.**

**Many thanks to readers and reviewers, especially Finfinfin1! Who is not only a beautiful writer, but an ever encouraging reviewer. Thank you to all. :)**

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Darkness, pain, agonizing pain… It’s all I feel.

“Aila!”

The familiar voice fights through the sickening black but I don’t fight for it. He calls me back and I don’t answer. I feel this body cradled in familiar arms and it’s a beautiful place to be. If only I could appreciate it… My love’s fingers run through my hair, tilt my chin back. It is not the touch of a lover though, but that of a desperate, guilty friend… He massages my throat with his fingers, trying to ease this pain, but I still can’t breathe. Shouts and war cries scream through the trees outside, chaos and noise that hurts my ears. I don’t know what they are…I can’t think that far. I’m suffocating, choking for air through my swollen throat. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

And suddenly, a warmth seeps into me unbidden.

“Don’t even try this…little one.” the new voice echoes in my ears and I wince, taking a sharp breath through my nose.

“Tamling!” I choke, forcing my eyes to crack open, trying to breathe enough to shout his name. Where is he? Why can’t I see him? Why does he not answer?

Blonde fills my view and I know it’s not the silver locks of Tamling.

“W-where is he?” I grab Legolas’s cloak with bloody fingers. He gasps relief at my awakening, but not for long. I’m rambling and I know it. I’m dying and I know it. “Tell me where he is. I-I need him! Give him-no, _tell_ him I-I…”

“I am here.” The voice comes again, and I look up through bleary, fearful eyes. _Tamling._

He stands behind Legolas, shimmering and wavering at the edges. His presence glows. The warm familiarity that I bask in, it’s firm and real. His black eyes are disapproving; his fair face is dark, the robes falling to the floor shifting as he walks closer. Maybe with my friend near and my love nearer, I can do this.

“You’re being a fool.”

_Maybe not._ I shiver, convulsing violently. I thought he came to say goodbye!

“Do not think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He warns, and I nearly cry. My last few moments of life and he’s berating me? “This will not solve anything _,_ no matter what you think now _._ Take the bracelet off.”

“No.” I wince, clutching Legolas’s hands, confused and trying to keep the elf from ripping the cloth from my shoulder. He tries to help and I know it is futile.

My injuries are bleeding again and the poison races through my veins, fast like a thousand black shards...death. Legolas supports my head on his knee, before tearing a strip of cloth from his silver undershirt and jamming the wad into the swollen fang marks where the blood is black. He leans over me, wiping the sweat from my face. And then, pressing his eyes shut tight, he mutters whispers of comfort and healing.

I pray it’s too late...and I know it is. He’s not a healer. Purple bruising mars my side. Black veins climb my neck in clawing tendrils, run down my arm and chest to my heart.

“Do as I say, for once in your life!” Tamling urges, hissing in frustration. “ _Listen_ to me.”

“No…” I pant, clinging closer to Legolas, and he can’t hold me still. “…no.” The shivering is too intense; I can’t stop.

“Lose this body and I will help you take it again.” Tamling demands. “You know not what you are _doing_!”

“No!” I shout out all the air left in my lungs. “I won’t!”

“You are an ignorant child.” Tamling snaps, stepping forward. I hear Legolas’s frantic voice, but not his words… Tamling’s never spoken to me like this before. It shoots fear like I’ve never known through my heart. Tears of hurt and pain sear my eyes and spill down my face. I want it, try to bring it down, but the blackness descending is terrifying. _I don’t want to die!_ I don’t want to die…

“M-my name is Aila…” I whisper, and Legolas nods.

“Yes, kitten.” He doesn’t realize my rambling is not for him. He doesn’t know we’re not alone.

“Don’t you see?” Tamling gets on his knees. Legolas fills my peripheral vision, but I turn my head, staring into the fierce black eyes of the Faerie. The elf must think I’m mad, for he doesn’t hear the spirit’s words. Legolas whips his eyes from me to the empty wall and sees nothing. It drives him into a panic, and his eyes are wild.

“Stop this, Aila!”

I won’t.

“Our kind, the Faerie cannot fade into black without the Others’ consent. It takes the power of the _Elders_ to do this, a long ritual! You have no choice in the matter.”

“Then w-why…” I cough, grimacing as the coppery taste of blood fills my mouth, and Legolas runs through spells of healing faster, frantic. “…why are you so afraid of what I’m doing?”

“All right. Listen to me,” He grips my arm, staring into my face intensely. “You say you love him. Prove it! You’ll bring him down with you, Aila…if that is your name. Is that what you want?”

_He’s lying..._ He has to be.

“You’re lying!” I rasp, panting fearfully.

“Are you willing to chance that?” He grimaces in frustration, and I see a thousand things flash through his eyes. “You are not like us, Aila. Trust me on this thing. You are different.”

“Different _how_?”

He shakes his head. He won’t answer. Pain, memory and anger… fear. He’s not telling me. What is he holding back? He stares at me, conflicted, breathing fast, before turning away.

“Tell me.” I hiss, gasping with all the strength I have. “Tell me, Tamling!” But I know it is futile. Instead, he looks up, concentrating furiously on Legolas. I look between them, convulsing, straining for air and for consciousness.

“He is strong...” The Faerie says, bracing on his hands, before slowly, he reaches out. Invisible, Tamling almost touches the elf’s face, his glowing silver hand shivering with the power emanating from that touch. I don’t know what he’s doing. I claw at empty air to stop him, whatever it is, but I can’t.

“You are _strong.”_ Tamling repeats, inhaling a breath that he doesn’t need. He’s no longer talking to me. “You can do this. Do what your heart tells you!”

And suddenly, Tamling reaches out and grasps the elf’s shoulder. Legolas jolts violently, grabbing the floor and he gasps, as if a bolt of lightning shot through him from nowhere. Then, the world blurs out. The shouts of men outside, screams I think are…goblins...fill the trees in a whip of mottled confusion.

I can’t make them out. I can’t see anymore.

“Do it.” Tamling urges, “Do this, Thranduil’s son!”

Legolas grimaces and digs under his shirt. He rips the flaming blue pendant from his neck, snapping the clasp.

“The strength lies in this. Use it. _Control_ it. Wield the power of this gift and doom; save her for me!”

Tamling is behind him the whole way. He talks to him, and I hear only bits and flashes of the faerie’s voice. Legolas doesn’t look. He doesn’t hear the words spoken. He just reacts. They pour from his lips and he clutches the necklace in his fist, the other flat on my chest. I don’t have strength to fight it anymore.

“…mani thalliole sina ona a’mine…”

I shake my head, grabbing his arm, pleading with him to stop. Legolas’ eyes are focused on me, but he doesn’t see. He doesn’t listen. He can’t hear me.

“…n’vam e anta amine…”

And then, like a clap of thunder in the night, Legolas’ eyes shoot open and he throws his head back. The light blinds me. His skin is white and light shoots from between his closed fingers. It stuns me, and the surge that pulses through his skin, sears his palm on my chest glows white hot.

It’s too much.

The power surges through my limbs. My back, flat on the floor arches and past dazzling light, blackness so deep and so intense descends, it crushes my body and burns it, blinds my senses.

I know nothing more.

 

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_Curse these elves._ Curse these trees. Curse this damnable trail with nothing but rocky trunks, wet mud and tracks that lead nowhere!

“Elesia!” Andaer says to Falaviel. I grab my axe, panting in cold air with the brief reprieve. “What does he say?”

We’re running after an elven tracker of the group, trying to discern which of these many trails are real. None of them are. None of them did my Legolas take, at least not willingly. I feel it in my bones. We’ll not find him. We’ll be too late. Something dreadful has befallen him!

The company slows to a halt, blades and bows in hand, scanning the trees. I am the only one breathing hard. Whoever was here—men, says the hunter—knew there business. I don’t believe it. No ordinary man could have whisked Legolas away! For that is surely what has happened. What else could make him do something like this? Worry me so terribly, put me through this hell? No. Something has happened.

Rain pours from the leaves and makes the already rough ground confusing. Legolas and the missing elleth are even harder to find. The trees are silent too. At least says these elves, and we are so near the borders now, they don’t seem to speak anymore. I say they are stupid, either that or stubborn. I tried to beat one into submission, but it did no good. The elves stopped me, anyway.

“I suggest you follow the only path this cart took.” The elf shouts over the thrum of rain, gesturing to what used to be the faint tracks of wagon ruts veering off to the left. They’re becoming impossible to follow as the pounding raindrops beat out the tracks.

The three elves Andaer sent to meet the Lorien elves are long gone, hours ago anyway, and I hope they’ve come on better fortune. The sun is set. The clouds are black, and the only sign at all that we run the right way, is one set of wheels travel with their horses. We have to assume that the one oddity in all this is Legolas.

“Come then!” Andaer waves and spins around. With that, we’re running again, harder than ever.

I rue the day we ever left the White City to come here! I rue the day we left Elessar and his kingdom. Estel always knew how to handle the elf better than I. I keep his feet on the ground, but Aragorn knew his thoughts. He kept them wherever they should be. As soon as this is over, I am going to call him, write to him…something. Drag Legolas back to Minas Tirith, if I have to!

It all started when we left, this strange business with the Faerie. Legolas’s obsession began. He became more unpredictable than he normally is, and then this little elleth from Lothlorien appeared... Now this? Estel will know what to do. He’ll make things right again. If I weren’t so afraid of incurring Legolas’s wrath, I’d even go to his father, the king for help, the cursed elf who imprisoned my ancestors.

This is how desperate I am.

 

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Legolas stared gloomily at the glowing fire from the steel mesh that barred him. They were camped under a canopy at the borders. The slavers’ numbers had grown. They were at thirty now. A light rain poured from the eaves and drizzled from the trees.

Battling goblins came with their backup, but once they were slaughtered and thrown into the river running past, the party was reunited. It was the plan all along. The others, Legolas knew now, were running the spiders through the trees and to the waiting men. They planned to use some kind of Rautus juice that repelled the creatures, Legolas learned…where they would capture one alive to sell as a new oddity to a ‘Lord Interen.’ However, there seemed to be an even greater market for Eldar in this business.

Aila’s head was on his chest, body limply folded between his legs. Legolas kept her there despite the pressure her weight put on his ribs. They were a dull agony now, and healing badly…very badly. In his desperate attempt to save her, he’d moved too fast. One of the cracked bones had snapped completely, and a shard broke through the skin on his side, bruising purple and black. He kept it under his cloak and let her lean on his opposite side, so as not to antagonize the wound.

“How is she?”

Legolas blinked, glancing down with a start. A young, shaggy haired man stood there, looking through the metal grate. He was the same one who dragged her from the trees, now looking at them with green eyes.

It was proof of his injuries that he didn’t sense the man’s presence before.

“I’m supposed to feed you.” He said quietly. “Want some stew?”

Legolas just gritted his teeth. _How much more could he bear?_

He was exhausted from trying to think. What had happened? Was it real? He remembered the power he felt in his pendant--resting now in her lap--the presence that was there. It was one he’d never felt before. In those minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, he felt himself like another person. The memories made him shudder, a feeling of the vast unknown overwhelming him…

The foreign words had spilled from his lips, a language he didn’t know. Her eyes were white light and under his palm, he remembered the raw strength that flooded through him. He felt the Faerie’s presence again, like when her gift protected him in the woods… It was a feeling he’d never had before, indescribable power. If it was a dream, then he was indeed mad.

But he was not.

It was no less real than the hard wood under him, the pain in his chest, her hair around his fingers. It was real, though it was gone now. So was his strength. It sapped him dry, left him feeling hollow and empty, took everything out of him… And he didn’t even know if it helped.

Yes, she was breathing easier. Yes, the black veins clawing up her neck were receding…but she was unconscious. She didn’t respond. It made doubt flow through him. _What happened?_ What had she been trying to tell him before? And who was this…Tamling? They were answers he was afraid he wouldn’t get.

“Elf…?” the man spoke up. “Name’s Jason. I can get you water, if yer’ wanting it. Just gimme the word.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes, before turning his head away and cradling her body so the faint light no longer lapped at her face. He refused to answer. Aila’s breaths were short, steady and shallow. The warmth pressed hot against him was comforting though, more than it should be.

“I…I didn’t want any part of this, you know.” Jason admitted quietly. The others were scattered around the fire, some of them scouting the terrain ahead.

He still didn’t answer.

“This is my first trip with my-” he looked down. “I mean, Rent.”

Legolas was silent a long while. It took until the rain was nothing more than a dripping patter on the leaves for him to drag his attention to the man. “What do you want?” Legolas muttered. “More information for your father’s men?”

The man studied his dirty nails, shifting uncomfortably. “I was wonderen’…if what you said was true, that’s all. A-about the river, I mean, that is.”

Legolas chewed on the words, staring glumly into the darkness. The slavers were stopped in indecision, a few hours ago. White and flowing fast in the rains, the river had washed the bridges out for miles. Rain showered from the rumbling skies and spattered the leaves over their heads, deepening and swelling the river to a torrent.

“Trust me,” Jason had said. “Things will be a whole lot easier if we all just cooperate with Rent. I’m used to hunten’ troll and such…He never said the cargo would be yer kind.”

When Legolas had spoke, his thoughts were working again, recovered enough. He wasn’t used to manipulating the minds of mortals.

“I see your point.” Slowly, his fingers stroked through Aila’s hair. His hope then was time. Now, he didn’t know if there was any. “The river slows and shallows further down.”

Jason blinked, as if not expecting it to have been so easy. “… How far?”

“Ten miles perhaps.” Legolas stared straight ahead, studying the darkness. Actually, the water turned to rapids a few hours down, and when they reached it, they’d be delayed even further. It was good they were too stupid to know the lay of the land before this escapade.

“It is true...” Legolas said slowly now, “…that you will have what is coming to you.”

The man blinked.

Legolas drew in a deep breath, before slowly shifting his eyes to look at the son of his captor. It unnerved him, made him sweat in the rain showering from the trees. Legolas was glad. “You are his son. Thus, you are second in command.” It wasn’t a question. He knew it from their talking and the man’s wary eyes.

“Yeah…?”

“If the time comes that you are ordered to…dispose of us, you will take me first.”

Jason shifted back a step. “I don’t want any killin’.”

Legolas nearly laughed, but it came out a snort.

“No, I-I mean it. We were just here for spiders, this time.”

“ _Jace!_ ” Came a sudden shout. Legolas recognized it as their leader’s. Jason leapt away from the cage, a half step, standing rigid. “What do those things want?”

He quickly walked to the fire, shaking his head. “Nothing…nothing.”

Legolas sighed, looking away. _What was he going to do?_ He was in no condition to fight. Aila was helpless at the moment. He would have to carry her, slip away unnoticed. The thought made his heart sink lower. He wasn’t even in a condition for that. It seemed impossible. He wouldn’t leave her though, he knew that now, not for a minute. _Well…what, then?_ They would surely be separated, if he did nothing. He couldn’t stand for that either. The turmoil whirled through his head until he was not only tired and in pain, but frustrated.

And suddenly, the sounds of dying men rang through the night.

Legolas snapped his head up. _Andaer? Falaviel?_ Had they found them?

Shouts and panicked bodies were running past. The sheltered fire was kicked out and only blackness filled the forest. Legolas could see though. His eyes gleamed in the dark.

Instantly, an arrow whizzed through the night with a silent scream. It slammed into the wagon and rattled to a still. Legolas stared. Elven arrows…but not Mirkwood! He shifted, wincing at the pain shooting up his side, and he lifted a knee and wrapped Aila in his arm in case the volley of arrows coming from the trees whizzed through the metal grate. They were shot with precision though, and men leapt to their horses, running into each other, shouting in the dark in total chaos.

Suddenly, a tall figure dropped from the trees and appeared before the grate. The nonexistent moon shone from his pale hair and a bow was in his hand, powerful and proud. Legolas nearly gasped in surprise, but he didn’t. He kept it down. Legolas was fiercely ashamed to be caught in this predicament at all, without looking like a wide-eyed elfling to his rescuer.

“Haldir…” he said, as if nothing was wrong. As if he hadn’t spent a day in agonizing worry and terrible pain. As if he weren’t imagining every moment, just what his father would say when he heard of this entire ordeal…

And then, ignoring the men scrambling for their lives behind him, the faintest smile pulled at Haldir’s lips…Either that or a frown. With the warden, it was hard to tell. “Prince Legolas, I presume?” the elf asked with a tilted brow.

Legolas was never more glad to see him.

 

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_“…mani thalliole sina ona a’mine…”   …what strength this has, give me…_

_“…n’vam e anta amine…”                       …fail me not in my need…_

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

**A/N: Feedback is very welcome, as always positive or not. I’d love to hear what you think. By the way, August 21 st is Fanfiction Appreciation Day! So have a good day, readers. :))   **

 


	14. Thranduil

**A/N: So sorry for the long wait! But I’ve been awfully busy with life, as well as other writing. But most of all, I’ve been having terrible trouble with internet access. So without further adieu….**

The next few days were a blur to Legolas. Twice he passed out. Four times he ate. Gimli was with him constantly; Aila never. They wouldn’t let him see her. He lost blood constantly, but his wound was not mortal. He just had to get home, see his father. He would be all right. He’d be all right when he healed.

“Andaer!” Legolas called harshly. His voice was husky and cold in the rain. “Where is she? What happened to her?”

No one answered; they just rushed on. They thought he was delirious, even Gimli! Well, he wasn’t. He was thinking perfectly clearly.

“Where is _Aila_?” he insisted. “Tell me where she is!”

“Who do you speak of, Legolas?” came a voice, but it wasn’t Andaer’s. It was the warden of Lothlorien. Haldir led a troop of elves behind him, taking long strides in the rain.

“Aila…” Legolas grabbed the wet mane of his horse, Arod, to keep himself on. He’d let no one else carry him. Not his troops, not his men. Gimli hurried beside, reaching as far up Legolas’ leg as possible to keep him from falling. Rain dumped in sheets from the heavens and soaked the forest floor.

“The Lorien elf? Is that who you mean, lad?”

Falaviel was beside the dwarf; her green eyes were fixed anxiously upon him with worry and regret.

“Is that what you’ve named her, then? Talk to me, lad. Keep awake.”

“Gimli…” Legolas panted, grimacing and holding his side. “Where is she?”

“She’s here lad. A pointy-ear has her. She’s all right.”

“Aila was dying…I had to save her.” Legolas winced, remembering. “I could do nothing else. I had to save her, Gimli.”

“I know, lad. I know. You can tell me all ‘bout it later. You just keep yer strength, and we’ll be all right!” Gimli told him, and it was the last clear thing he remembered, cold, wet, haze, until…

It was dark again. The rain no longer fell but Legolas knew it was two days at least. Suddenly, a shout rang through the woods.

“The king! The king is here!”

Gimli looked up in shock, grabbing his axe in a reflexive, defensive movement. But he needn’t have bothered. Thranduil wasn’t here to bring up old grievances. He was here for his only son.

 

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_“Who are you?”_

I flinch with a start. All I see is a black, churning place full of vision that has no height, nor width, nor breadth…unconsciousness. I swim through it, seeing the light grow and shudder into focus at the other end of this tunnel. But the voice comes through it all, like ice in the night…clear, focused, cool.

“ _You are a child. Yet you are old._ _You seek happiness, yet bring with you only pain..._ _What are you?”_

What am I? I don’t know anymore.

I knew who I was for decades, centuries. I knew what I’d always been, at least I thought I did. _And now…_ It took just a single pale, sweet face for it to end. Now, I don’t know anymore.

Suddenly, two fingers drop lightly to touch my forehead and I can’t drift in the sweet peace of unconsciousness any longer. I slowly crack my eyes open. Memory filters through the fog…distant, like a dream. I can’t see right away. My eyes are bleary and a blur of pale blonde fills my vision.

“L-legolas…?” I whisper. But then, I know I’m wrong.

Someone, someone great contains a presence that fills the tent walls. He is respect and awe, something magnificent. But I feel no gentleness for me in that presence. A night wind steals through the flaps and I shiver. Tasseled, colorful blankets lie under me and the king stands at the bedside, staring with dark, focused eyes. Firelight laps at his face and reflects on his gaze red on gray, like flaming lightning in the graying clouds.

“You speak of my son.”

My heart creeps into my chest and I try to sit upright, but he doesn’t let me. He lifts a single hand and it keeps me down; it doesn’t hurt. I don’t dare resist though, and I look up in a panic. _The king…_ Sweet Eren, he knows! He knows who I am, why I’m here. He’s going to kill me. He’s here for revenge!

“I-I’m sorry.” I croak desperately. I wince at my voice, and my head flares to life, pounding painfully. “I didn’t want to!” I cough. “I-I-I’m sorry…your highness. I-”

“Silence.” He snaps and I wince, clapping my mouth shut. It’s only then that I realize he didn’t lift his voice. Slowly, Thranduil shifts back, dressed in silver robes to the floor that make his tall frame more stately than frail. The wind rustles through the tent flap, and I see elves camped outside.

“I want your name, child…if that is what you are.” He turns around, and I stare at the ruby red rings at my bedside. His hands are now bare, a trace of blood on his cuffs. “You will tell me how you know my son,” he says slowly, “…and what he has told you of these so-called ‘faerie’.”

“T-told me?” I lay frozen, staring at the side of his face and the long, pale blonde hair cascading down his back. He doesn’t look at me. “Oh.” And then, it hits me. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who I am or why I’m here. At least not yet, anyway.

I try to keep down the sigh of relief.

“My name’s A-ailaria, sir.” I blink. “I mean, your highness.”

“That is the name my son gave you. I want your real name.”

“I…I don’t remember, sir.” I whisper, grimacing. With a great force of effort, I sit up and rub my head, hoping he doesn’t see the lie in my eyes. If he does though, he doesn’t say so.

Thranduil turns. “I want to know the interest you have in him, and why he calls your name in his illness.”

“H-his…illness, sir?” And then, with a sudden surge of horror, I remember. He was injured! He was bleeding and drained and-and… “Legolas!” I burst out, snapping my head up. “ _Where_ is he? What happened to him? I have to see him!”

“You cannot.” Thranduil blinks at me like I’m insane. He walks back, and with a single hand, points me to lay back again. I don’t, because I can’t. I have to see him. I have to make sure he’s all right again.

“Please your highness. I have to!” I don’t dare get up, but I swing my legs over the makeshift bed, aching to stumble out the door and find him. “I just want to see him. Where is he?”

“Legolas’ injuries have been tended. He is in the Healing Halls, asleep.” Thranduil comes over, before with a single hand, pushes me back into the blankets. To my even further shock, his tall frame stoops to sit at the bedside, only a circlet of silver on his brow. “You will answer what questions I have for you. And do not lie; I know you now have the strength.”

“Questions…” I grimace in confusion. “…questions? Please, sir. Can’t I see him for just a moment?”

The king stares at me with a creeping kind of stare that I can’t understand. The firelight in the large, open tent laps up the walls and glows orange on his face. His silver brows are drawn together.

“Very well, Ailaria.” He says the name pointedly. I’ve never heard a voice like his from an earthling. It’s like the Great Spirit’s, but more real. I think I can feel it in the air; it makes me shiver. I want to be away from here so badly my fingers shake.

“Answer my questions, and I will let you see him. Do we have an agreement?”

“Questions…” I look between the seated king and the door, back and forth again, before whispering shakily. “A-all right. I can do that.”

He nods slowly, looking at me. He doesn’t speak though. I prepare myself for anything. Why doesn’t he say something? I fidget with my hands, sitting cross-legged and propped up on a pillow.

And then, the king speaks very quietly, and very calmly. “Does Legolas know that you love him?”

I almost lose my breath. “Wha-…” I cough. “What?”

The king of the Woodland Realm stares at me with a silent, unflinching stare.

“I don’t…I don’t know what you mean, sir!” I whisper adamantly.

“Do not play games with me, Lorien elf…if _that_ is what you are.” He replies a little harshly, before leaning back in his chair with a deep breath. Thranduil crosses his long legs before him and studies one of his leather, carved boots. “It was I who brought you from unconsciousness, Ailaria. I know secrets that you hide. The rest…you will tell me.”

I swallow shakily, staring at him wide-eyed. I know what he means. I don’t know how much he discovered in the process…maybe what Legolas did to heal me was too much for me, I don’t know…but the king used his _fea_ to drag me from the place my mind retreated to. I hid in the dark and he pulled me out. _The hands of the king are the hands of a healer._ I don’t know what I could have done, that he did this for me.

“I…care about him, your highness.” I whisper faintly, staring at the ground. I feel sick.

“’Tis a dangerous game you play, elleth.” Thranduil finally murmurs. “You should know I would not let my son pledge himself to a Noldor.”

I don’t answer.

“You should know also, that I will not let this game he plays with the Faerie last much longer.”

“It’s not a game.” I mumble softly.

“Tell me what you mean.”

I stare at the ground, before very, very carefully looking at him. “They’re not playing a game, your highness. They’re not dead; they’re in hiding no longer...and they are very much alive.”

The king narrows his eyes. “Do you think I don’t know this?”

I blink. “You…you know?”

Thranduil inhales deeply. Then, he surprises me by removing the silver circlet from his head and placing it on the small desk near the fire. He stands in the orange light near the side of the tent, a disturbed, fathomless look in his eyes…and I realize it is his tent that I am in. It makes me want to tremble even harder, but I force it down.

“You are here because I will speak to you before any other does.” Thranduil explains at my expression, glancing up. Then, he wearily retakes his seat and interlaces his fingers before him. Somehow, he manages to make the tiny, wood-spoked chair look like a throne.

“There is nothing in my kingdom that I do not know of, Ailaria.” He says firstly. I swallow, feeling the firelight lap at my skin and I stay very still. “From what I know of Legolas and what he keeps from me, he knows more of the Faerie than I intended my son to discover…until he takes the throne. What he does not know is that the Faerie are not only creatures of magic and power, but they are unwise and change as the wind.”

“I know.” I say softly… I wish I didn’t.

“What I would like to know,” he says a little darkly, “…is what interest you have in them. How do you know so much? And why does my son seek you out?”

“He…just wants answers, your highness. He’s intelligent, curious. He wants to know a-about the Faerie who came to him.”

“Then one of those things did visit Legolas.” Thranduil murmurs; it’s not a question.

“Yes.” I whisper.

“Why?”

I think about it. “I think she wanted to give him a gift, sir.”

Thranduil scoffs with an edge of refinement that makes it sound more like a cough. “ _Gift_? The only gift those things gave is what’s taken from them.”

I stare at him. “Taken like the Stone of Ketedur? Or maybe their passage home?”

Something darts through Thranduil’s eyes and he stares at me. “How do you know of such things? Do not dare lie to me, Noldor! I will know.”

I shake my head, looking away. “I-I don’t know _so_ much about them. I have just observed them…closely over the years.”

“How close?” Thranduil leans closer. I can’t keep his gaze.

“Close…enough.” I shift under his eyes, before looking up again, hopeful. “Can I see Legolas now?”

“You’ve answered no questions of mine, elleth.” He shifts back. “Furthermore, I know you do not belong here, no matter what story you place before me. What I do not know is your _purpose_ here, and why you encourage my son to delve into the long-past fights with the Faerie.”

“I…” I sigh, rubbing my eyes and wishing I could be anywhere but here. I can’t think. His mere presence is making my heart pound through my ears and my mouth go dry. All I want is to see Legolas, stroke his hair, feel that his glowing spirit shines again.

“I…I don’t know if you can believe me sir, but I don’t want your son involved with them any more than you do. I wish that silly spirit never came to him! I wish she never saw him. She’s doing nothing but _harm_ for him, and now, he’s _infatuated_ with them. I can’t stop him!”

“Why do you wish to?” Thranduil snaps back just as quickly.

I pant, staring at my hands. “Th-they’re dangerous. You know how they hate you, Thranduil! I…I mean, your highness.” I shake my head, looking up at him. “He’s fought for all of Middle Earth. He and his friends are heroes. He doesn’t deserve this.”

“This?” Thranduil is sitting over in his chair, rigid and close to me now. “What is happening to him? Tell me, Noldor.”

“They plan to use him as leverage against you.” I spill before I can stop myself. I have to. I can’t take the weight of this knowledge any more. It’s just too much. “You have to make peace with them.”

“Peace…with the Faerie?” Thranduil scoffs and leans back. “Never.”

“Please sir!” I plead, scrambling to the edge of the cot and clasping my fingers. “It’s the only way. You can’t keep them at bay forever. You _know_ this! You took what’s there’s. They want it back; they’ll do anything for it! They’ll take him, your highness. They’ll kill him!”

“And what will protect my lands from those cursed spirits then, Noldor?” He asks me, and I see the distress hidden past anger. Somehow, I know he realizes the danger Legolas is in. Maybe he’s felt it, the change. Maybe he knows the Faerie are moving now. “I will keep him here, if I must.” The king murmurs more to himself than me. “He will not leave the safety of these borders.”

“But what about Ithilien? He cannot stay here forever!” I protest. “One way or another, he’s going to leave. When he does, they’ll have him and they won’t let go. Oh _please,_ listen to me! His pendant is the only thing that keeps him safe outside the fortress. It won’t be enough, not for all of them. They’ll find a way.”

“How do you know this?” He snaps suddenly, turning his head to look at me. There’s anger in his eyes. He already knows what I tell him. But like me, he just doesn’t know what to do about it.

“They…they don’t all want this.” I say more subdued. “I’ve…talked with some of them.” I admit.

“How?” he narrows his eyes. “And how do I know you are not here as a spy for those accursed things? How do I know I should not have you banished from these lands of mine?”

“I’m not a spy.” I protest. _A saboteur, maybe._ “I just don’t want Legolas hurt more…more than possible.”

Thranduil stares at me a long while, before getting up out of his seat. He walks slowly to the tent door and watches the Mirkwood elves in their camp, listens to the faint whisper of talk and the wind in the trees. I’m not sure where we are, but I think it’s outside the fortress gates.

And finally, he turns back. I look at the floor, sitting cross-legged and twisting my fingers in knots. “Elleth.”

I swallow weakly. “Yes sir?”

“I will not forbid your presence with Legolas.”

I breathe a tiny sigh of relief…but the moment’s cut short.

“You are a source of much needed information to my son.” He says. “If I do so now, it will only encourage him to pursue this matter further. It will make spurn my judgement and seek foolishness.”

I nod slightly.

“But I will have you know this, with no doubt in your mind.” He turns and shifts a step closer, lowering his head for the first time to look at me, and suddenly, I’m struck again with a shuddering sense of awe. I’m older than he is…though seasons pass differently for us…But it’s not the same. I live; he has lived. I see so much knowledge, so much power in his eyes, I can’t stop my fingers’ shaking. I feel like a child, like when the Great Spirit looks at me with his flaming gaze.

“If you hurt my son…” he says quietly, lips pressed into a thin line, before saying even softer, “…in any way, there is nowhere in Arda you can hide from me.”

I swallow. “I…I understand.”

He’s silent a moment, before dipping his head with a small, polite smile. “Good.”

“Can I see him now?” I ask too eagerly. It comes out less articulate than I’d like; I’m shaking so hard I’m surprised it’s as good as it is.

He apparently thinks about it. Then, Thranduil exhales slowly and half-turns. The king snaps his fingers and an elf appears in the doorway.

“Take the Noldor to the Healing Halls.”

He gives a brief nod, and I whisper my thanks to the king. At the doorway, I look back once…only to find Thranduil’s eyes steady on the fire. I don’t linger long, and I hurry after the waiting elf.

In the Healing Halls, it’s more crowded than I remember.

“Some were wounded in the slavers’ raid.” The elf explains at my expression, looking around at the bandages, busy healers and talk. But I just nod. I scan the unfamiliar faces, linger an instant too long on the pale blonde heads. He’s not here.

“Where is he?” I hiss, beginning to feel my pulse race. _Did he lie to me?_ Was this pre-planned all along? Maybe the king won’t let me see him, after all. He doesn’t want me around him!

And suddenly, my panicking thoughts are snapped in two.

“He is not to be found here.” A voice says, and I turn. A tall, blonde elf stands in blue robes and leggings. One of his brows arch higher than the other, and he lifts a hand. “Haldir of Lothlorien, elleth.” He introduces himself. “It would seem I’ve promised to show you to him, if you should show up here. Legolas is this way.”

“Oh, thank you.” I breathe, hurrying after him. My escort begins to protest, but I shake my head, waving him on. “Is he alright?” I ask Haldir hurriedly. “Is he hurt badly? Where is he?” All the _what ifs_ tumble through my head like a tidal wave. I should have stayed with him. I shouldn’t have let him do what he did.

“He has two broken ribs, if I remember correctly, and the wound is deep. But, it was bound and cared for by no other than the king. The rest he may do on his own.”

“But he’ll be alright.” I insist, almost stumbling into multiple surprised elves on my way after him. “Right?”

“You should know Eldar heal quickly. He is sleeping now.”

“I can see him anyway?”

And then, Haldir pauses, staring at me wearily from the open threshold, before lifting a hand. Inside, cots line the two walls; only a few are occupied. One of them, the nearest, I recognize as my center. His closed eyes and his pale blonde tresses spilling down the pillow…there’s no other like him. I only have to breathe a sigh of relief to know it is Legolas.

I smile.

“He is there.” Haldir mutters, making to walk on. He pauses again though. “…And if he asks, I did as I promised.”

I nod gratefully, wishing I could thank him properly. But he’s already saluting a farewell and walking on.

When I get to Legolas, I can’t help letting my eyes ravish him, take in every cut and bruise, wishing I could take them away. I wish this had never happened…all of it, and I make myself lie down on the adjacent cot. I take a deep breath, making my whirling thoughts and tired mind settle. He’s here. He’s safe. He’s all right…no thanks to me.

Legolas is asleep, stretched out on his side with a white linen bandage wrapped around his ribs. He looks vulnerable, younger than I’ve ever thought of him. I stare at him, curled up on my side and matching each rise and fall of his chest. He is perfect. I notice a few silvery ridges mark his bare arms and I realize they are scars. I stare at them, curling my fingers into fists. I wish I could touch them away. But they are perfect too. They are who he is; they are what they’ve made him.

And not for the first time, I let tears run into the pillow and I cry. _What have I done?_

 

**A/N: So…? What are you thinking so far? Hit the review button and please let me know. I’d love to hear it. :)**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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